


Endings and Beginnings

by truth_renowned



Series: Endings and Beginnings [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, peggysous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 56,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truth_renowned/pseuds/truth_renowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two cups of angst, a few tablespoons of smut and a heaping helping of mytharc. Post Hollywood Ending. Originally posted as a one-shot but it wouldn't leave me alone until it became a search for Jack's shooter. Alternates between Peggy's and Daniel's points of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I was convinced that when I woke up, all of this would have been a dream. Zero Matter, Isodyne, Whitney Frost, all of it couldn’t be real. But it’s not a dream. It’s real. 

She’s real. Peggy’s very real. And soft and naked, draped across my chest.

My arm is falling asleep, my right thigh is stinging from exertion, and I have to piss like no one’s business. But I’m not going anywhere. It’s not possible for me to be any happier right where I am.

We should have talked. I told her that, after what happened in my office. We should talk, I said. I agree, she said. We should have gone somewhere to talk. That was my first mistake, bringing her here to my place. My second mistake was sitting next to her on my couch, looking into those eyes. Then at those lips. Next thing I knew, Peggy Carter was on my lap, kissing the hell out of me. Again. She’s making a habit of this. Who am I to stand in the way of her vices?

How did we get to the bedroom? I can’t remember. The only thing I remember is Peggy lowering herself onto me. For that moment, nothing in the world mattered to me more. Talking seemed trivial, unnecessary. Every move we made, every thrust, spoke volumes.

The past few hours have led to very few words, other than grunts and gasps of our names or God’s. We do need to talk. There’s so much to say. So much to hear. She knows what she means to me, she has to. But what do I mean to her? So much baggage to unpack. What does Jason Wilkes mean to her? And Violet...

I did love Violet. A part of me still does. I love the idea of her. Someone outside of this crazy life. Something stable. Something so… normal. I honestly thought that’s what I wanted. Someone normal. Guess I was the only one who didn’t know I was fooling myself. What an idiot. I ended up hurting a beautiful, kind woman with my stupidity. I didn’t want normal. I wanted the antithesis of normal. I wanted fearless, unpredictable, dangerous and, I know now, insatiable. 

I got what I wanted. Finally.

\------------------

I think he’s awake. I can hear his breathing change under my ear. I don’t want to move. For just a little while, I want to remain here, in Daniel’s arms. Safe. 

What am I saying? Nothing we do is safe. Especially this. It’s reckless. A chief and his subordinate, cavorting like sex-crazed teenagers.

How will this work? _Will_ this work?

Maybe I should go back to New York. It’s my home. But can I leave LA? Daniel?

It might be better if I do. Mr. Jarvis was right. The people around me tend to die. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to Daniel. I can’t do that again.

Steve.

I can’t help think of what could have been with Steve. But it will never be. I know that. Dwelling on what might have been is no way to live. I will never forget him but I know Daniel is not Steve. I don’t want Daniel to be Steve. I want Daniel to be Daniel.

There’s a deep gurgling under my ear.

“Hungry?” His hand takes mine.

“Always.”

“I meant for food, Daniel.” It’s difficult to keep one’s voice steady when one’s fingers are being sucked on like an ice lolly. 

“Hmmm. That, too. You?”

“Famished.” 

His lips move up my arm, kisses, then teeth lightly nip. “Sorry, not much in my fridge. There’s a good place down the block.” 

“Do they serve tacos?”

I feel his laugh against my forearm. “I think so.”

“That settles it. Of course, it would require us to get out of this bed.”

“Hmmm.” Kiss. Nip.

If he continues to doing that, we’re not going anywhere. But if I am capable of anything, it’s taking charge.

As I pull my hand away, I get up from the bed. “If we don’t get up now, we won’t.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I find the nearest piece of clothing, his undershirt. “Do you mind?” 

He doesn’t understand. As I slip the shirt over my head, his mouth drops open. He understands now. I can’t help but throw him a sly smile as I walk out of the bedroom, knowing the shirt doesn’t quite cover everything.

The living room looks like the bottom of laundry chute. His Hawaiian shirt is draped over the back of the couch. His suit jacket is crumpled on the floor, next to my dress and slip. God knows where my shoes are. Luckily I have several pair in my suitcases. Which are where? Ah, by the front door. About the only things that weren’t strewn about the room. I pick them up as the phone rings.

A chief’s work is never done.

Daniel left explicit instructions with Rose that he was not to be disturbed. Apparently one of his men didn’t get the message because he called earlier. I was impressed with Daniel, his voice level and all business, the epitome of professionalism despite the fact that he was buried deep inside me.

As I walk back in the room, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands quickly working the straps of his prosthesis. When I see his face, I know something is wrong. 

“Daniel?”

“It was Rose.”

“Rose? What did she want?”

“Jack.”

“Jack is on his way back…”

“Jack’s been shot.”

The suitcases drop from my hands.

“I don’t have many details. Rose said the LAPD guys were vague. Jack was taken to the hospital, condition unknown. One of the detectives is meeting me at the hotel.”

“Meeting _us_ at the hotel."

He hesitates slightly, then nods.

As I walk past the bed, he grabs my arm and pulls me to him. He holds me like he will never let go. Like our lives depend on it. They do.

Words aren’t necessary. I know what he’s thinking. The same thing I am. The Arena Club. The key. 

The Isodyne case closing isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

We drive in silence. What is there to say? Isodyne was the frying pan. We both know we’re about to jump into the fire.

I do have to say, the sunsets in Los Angeles are breathtaking. I enjoy the view of the orange-pink sky out of the car window as Daniel drives us to the hotel. He works the hand controls of the car like he’s been driving it years, which I know he has not. It was a new purchase for California. He’s done well here. I’ve noticed an increase in his confidence. He exudes a level of authority I never saw in New York. The move to California looks very good on him. 

And we’re here. The hotel was surprisingly close to Daniel’s place. He parks the car near two police cruisers, and we both exit.

We don’t need to know which room was Jack’s. A trail of uniformed men leads to the entrance to a grouping of rooms. Daniel flips his badge at the first man we see, a redheaded officer who looks no more than 20 years old.

The officer peruses the badge and nods. “Sir, Detective Hansen is in charge. He’s waiting for you in the room.”

With a nod, Daniel heads down the hall. I keep pace with him.

We stop at the entrance to the room and look inside. Two men, both white, stand shoulder to shoulder, looking at a small notebook. One young, fit, with blonde hair shaved close to his head. He’s holding the notebook and scribbles something. The other, probably in his late 50s, is taller, a bit taller than Daniel, but with a slouch. His hair is thinning, slicked back, a jet black color with a sprinkling of gray. He has a hardened look that says he is counting the days until retirement. Rookie and veteran.

I look around the room and my gaze stops at the carpet. A large spot, almost black, oblong in shape. Darker at the center, it fans out and gets lighter, feathering on the outlying carpet strands. The sheen on the dark mass says it’s still wet. Still fresh. So much blood. How did Jack survive? Is he still alive?

Daniel’s voice breaks me out of the trance. “We’re looking for Detective Hansen.”

The tall one looks up. “Who wants to know?”

“Chief Daniel Sousa, SSR.” Daniel flips open his badge.

Hansen gives Daniel a once-over, furrows his brow as his gaze stops on the crutch. “You’re a chief?”

I join in, trying to ignore the contempt growing inside my stomach. “And I’m Agent Carter.”

“Really?” Hansen turns his attention to me and his look is nothing short of a leer. “A lady agent? Will wonders never cease?”

I sneak a glance at Daniel and see his jaw working ever so slightly. I’m not the only one who thinks this guy needs a swift kick to the head.

“OK, SSR, our lou says we have to hand this over to you,” Hansen says with a yawn. As if he needed to physically convey his boredom. He nods to the man next to him. “Freeman here will give you report.”

The shorter detective flips a page on his notebook. “Not much to report, really. Maid came in to clean the room, found the vic on the floor. Called the hotel manager, who called LAPD. Manager said the room was rented to a Jack Thompson. We showed up and have been here ever since. We checked the vic’s pants pockets and found his badge before he was transported to LA County General. Called our lou and he called you guys. The end.”

As Freeman talks, I look at the bed. A suitcase. Jack’s suitcase, open and looking undisturbed. I can see shoes, a few shirts. I glance at Daniel, who is looking at the bed as well. He limps over to it and points to the suitcase.

“Is this how you found the scene, Detective Hansen?”

Hansen visibly bristles. “Are you questioning our professionalism, SSR?” He takes a few steps toward us, the slouch suddenly gone. He’s now a full head taller than Daniel.

“Not at all," Daniel says. “Just need to know the state of the scene before we proceed.” Calm, cool and with a touch of that newfound authority. Well played, Chief Sousa.

Hansen backs off a step. “We haven’t touched a thing, other than the vic’s pockets to find out who he was. We know protocol.” He practically spits the last three words at us. “Can we pass the reins now? We’ve got better things to do than babysit a hotel room. Plus we missed dinner because of this.”

My stomach grumbles instinctively. We missed dinner, too, and lunch and breakfast for that matter.

“Consider it handed off, Detective.” Daniel extends a hand to Hansen. “Thank you for securing the scene.”

I can tell the detective is searching for even a hint of sarcasm on Daniel’s face. He finds none, though that doesn’t mean there isn’t any. I know where to look.

The slouch comes back as Hansen shakes Daniel’s hand quickly. He motions with his head for Freeman. Like a puppy, the rookie follows. As the two men walk out, Hansen speaks loud enough for us to hear. On purpose, I’m sure.

“You’d think if the vic’s such a big deal, they’d send someone other than a crip and a dame.” His snorts of laughter echo behind him down the hall.

“Ass.” Daniel and I mutter it at the same time, though mine comes out as “arse”. We smile at each other. Great minds think alike.

I look in the suitcase. It doesn’t look like it’s been rifled through, though it’s far from neat. Shirts folded haphazardly, a pair of shoes not quite in the case, a shoelace draped over the edge. He was interrupted before he finished packing.

We both search the room, moving bed linens and lamps, looking in the bathroom and out the window, but nothing seems out of place. 

Jack’s suit jacket is next to the suitcase, a hat brim peeking out underneath it. Daniel lifts it, goes through the pockets, comes up with nothing. He lifts the hat, looks inside, then shakes his head.

As I close the suitcase, a sigh escapes my lips. I’m exhausted and starving, but I know this night is far from over. “Let’s take Jack’s belongings back to Howard’s lab. Maybe we can find something. Fibers. Hair samples. Fingerprints.”

“And do what with them, Peggy? We don’t have anything to compare them to. What good are fingerprints if we don’t...”

“I don’t know, Daniel!” That was far too harsh. I close my eyes to shake it off. “I’m sorry.”

He leans against me for a second, then moves away. Professional yet not. “Don’t worry about it. We’re both on edge.”

We grab Jack's things, me the hat and jacket, Daniel the suitcase, and walk toward the door. I don’t need to ask where we are going but I know it does not involve food or sleep.

We need to talk to Jack. If he’s able.


	3. Chapter 3

Peggy looks bone-tired. She looks as exhausted as I feel. I haven’t slept more than a few hours in the last three days. I know she hasn’t fared much better. And our… strenuous activities earlier are catching up to us.

Our heels echo in the hospital corridor. It’s well past visiting hours, especially for patients in the critical care unit. We turn the corner and see several draped areas, then two rooms. Agent Greene sitting outside one of the rooms. His name is fitting. He’s the newest; I hired him right before Peggy arrived. Seems like a good guy. But then, so did Vega and Blackwell.

Greene stands as we approach. “Chief. Agent Carter. Chief Thompson is still unconscious. Doc says he’s sedated. Something about it will help him while he’s in that contraption.”

Contraption?

“The doc might still be around,” Greene says. “He can tell you more. I’ll see if I can find him.” He walks toward the nurses’ station, which is vacant at the moment.

Peggy and I enter the room but I stop at the entrance. The contraption. An iron lung.

It hits me like a brick.

_The field hospital, excruciating pain, people standing around me, hazy words. “Stabilize…” “...not good” “…amputate.”_

_Nothing_.

_A dazed flight on a helicopter, whip, whip of the blades like a lullaby. In and out, the pain still there._

_Nothing._

_A thud, the lullaby gone. Jostling. “We’re losing him!”_

_Nothing._

“Daniel?”

_On a gurney, the squeaking of wheels, fluorescent lights above me. Extreme pain. Stop outside a room. Loud, mechanical sounds. I turn my head. A row of metal cylinders, copper and silver hills, encasing everything but a head. He is silent. I can’t see the others but I can hear them, screaming. In pain? In fear?_

“Daniel!”

_A familiar voice. Franklin? Is that you? He’d been hit in the chest. Franklin’s thick Brooklyn accent, screaming but no one is listening. “SOMEONE GET ME DA HELL OUTTA HERE!!” Mumbled words in French from women in nurses’ uniforms, but no one helps. “LET ME OUTTA HERE!!” Why aren’t they listening to him? Why aren’t they helping?!_

“DANIEL!”

Peggy’s voice slaps me back to the present. Jack’s hospital room. Her hand on my arm, squeezing firmly. I know I’m shaking but I can’t stop. I can’t stop looking at the iron lung, either.

“Daniel, are you OK?”

“Yes.” I nod, as if the movement will shake the fear from my body. 

Don’t ask me to explain, Peg. Please don’t. She doesn’t, though I think she suspects. 

I force myself to calm down and look her in the eye. “Really, Peggy, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Her hand squeezes my arm again. Concern, or maybe pity, clouds her eyes. I have to look away.

Peggy lowers her hand, then moves next to the iron lung. “At least Jack’s still with us.”

I stay right where I am. “The fact that he’s gotten this far is a good sign. Hopefully the doctor can give us more information.”

“Jack,” Peggy says as she leans down, close to his head. “Jack, it’s Daniel and I.” She smiles. “Daniel and Marge. We need your help. We can’t do this without you, Jack. We need you to get better so you can help find who did this to you.”

The room door opens and Greene sticks his head in. “Chief, the doc is on another floor, but the nurse is here to talk to you. I’m gonna go take a quick smoke break, OK?”

“Sure, go ahead.” I watch him walk away, then turn back to Peggy. “I’ll talk to the nurse. You stay here in case he wakes up.” I know he won’t, but I want as far away from the iron lung as possible.

I walk out the door and see the...

Oh no.

The nurse.

Pretty. Sweet face, almost cherubic. Warm smile. Strawberry-blonde pin curls peeking out from under a nurse’s hat...

Violet.

Wait. “Violet, what are you doing here?”

She tilts her head to the right, that cute little tilt where she wants to tell you that you’re being obtuse but she’s too nice to do so. I’m all too familiar with that tilt.

“I work here. And it’s good to see you, too, Daniel.”

I let out a breath through a tense smile. “Sorry. Hi. I just meant that you work in physical therapy.”

“I do, but since I lost my main therapy patient…”

Me. Ouch.

“...I’m able to take part in the hospital’s cross-training program. I’ve always wanted training in critical care, so now’s my chance.”

“Good, that’s great,” I say, meaning it. “You like it?”

“I do. There’s so much to learn but it’s exciting. The critical-care training is second shift only, though, for two months. But I actually like working nights. It’s been good for me. I needed a change of scenery.”

And score another for Violet.

That’s not fair. I know she’s not doing it on purpose. At least I don’t think she is. Who could blame her if she was?

Violet clears her throat. Her entire demeanor changes, her chin juts out. “Chief Thompson suffered a gunshot wound that damaged his lung. The doctor hopes it will heal on its own, hence the iron lung treatment. He’s sedated to help his lung heal. His body has suffered a great trauma, and he needs rest and time.”

“But he’s going to be OK.” I make it a statement, not a question. We need it to be a statement. Peggy is right; we need his help.

“He’s stable right now,” Violet continues. “It’s possible he may need surgery to remove the damaged area of his lung if the current treatment isn’t successful. If he has to have the surgery, it will be hard on him, but he’s young and healthy, so I’m optimistic. Losing part of a lobe is not ideal, but he still will be able to breathe relatively normally. He may get winded more quickly, but again, he’s healthy so that will aid in his long-term recovery.”

I nod. She nods back.

I smile, clear my throat. She smiles.

Could this be more awkward? I should have known running into her here was a possibility. But it’s night, and she didn’t work nights. Now she does. Now she does work nights...

“Um. Violet, I need a big favor.”

She tilts her head to the left. It’s her _I’m curious_ tilt. That one can go either way. _I’m curious, please go on_ or _The answer is no but I’m curious where you’re going with this._

“Would it be possible for you to be assigned to Jack as often as possible?”

She nods slowly. “I think so. The head nurse makes up the assignments but I can talk to her.”

“That would be great. We have two agents on guard during the day but I can only spare one at night. I would feel better knowing there’s someone else here at night I trust.”

“Of course,” she says. “I’ll see if I can pick up some more shifts as well. I’ll try to be on each night he is here.”

Dammit, Violet, stop being so damn nice! “Thank you. Really.”

The Professional Nurse mask drops. The left tilt comes back. “You look happy, Daniel. Tired but happy.”

Oh God. Not now, Violet. I open my mouth to speak but she puts up a hand.

“Don’t. It’s not necessary. The past is the past. I want you to be happy. You are. I can see it in your eyes.”

I am the biggest heel in the world. “Violet, I didn’t deserve you.”

“Oh, Daniel.” A small smile as she starts to walk away. “You are absolutely right.”

And Violet for the win.

I deserved that. One hundred percent.

As I walk back in Jack’s room, Peggy is hanging up the phone on the side table. She looks to me, hopeful. Do I tell her who Jack’s nurse is? She knows how competent Violet is, that she will make sure Jack gets the best care possible. I should tell her...

“The nurse said Jack isn’t out of the woods but she’s optimistic.” Coward. “He may need surgery if his lung doesn’t heal in… that thing, but the prognosis is good.”

“It sounds like he’s in good hands,” she says with a sigh of relief. "There's nothing more we can do here. I've phoned Mr. Jarvis. Dinner will be waiting for us at Howard’s. Then we can look through Jack’s things."

“Good plan.” I’ve done well stifling yawns all day but one sneaks out.

Peggy smiles. “Or how about I take everything to Howard’s and you can head home.”

“No way. I’m hungry and I know Jarvis does wonders in the kitchen.” I open the door and motion to her. “Anyway, I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together, Peggy.”

In more ways than one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with the layout of Peggy’s suite. Please forgive me. It’s for a good cause, I promise!

After a quick stop at Daniel’s to get my luggage, we’re on our way to Howard’s. By the time we pull up in the driveway, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Hopefully that’s not what we are having, though I wouldn’t turn it down.

As we walk to the front door, it opens to reveal Edwin Jarvis.

“Your timing is impeccable,” he says, motioning us inside, immediately taking the suitcases from my hands. “I’ve just set the table and was about to put cloches over the plates. It’s in the small kitchenette near your suite, Miss Carter. I hope the menu will be to your liking.”

My mouth waters at the mention of food. “Mr. Jarvis, at this point, anything edible would be to my liking.”

“Then we shall work on increasing your culinary standards in the future,” Jarvis says. “Your suite is prepared and I will place your luggage there. When you are finished with your meal, just leave everything. I’ll take care of it.”

He turns on his heel, walks away and is around the corner before either of us can say thank you.

As we walk down the hall, the scent of home-cooked delicacies invades my senses. Daniel breathes in and smiles. Lucky for us, it’s a short walk to the kitchenette.

The four-seat table is set with two place settings next to each other. Each plate has a thick, juicy steak, medium-rare, just how I like it, and bright green haricot verts, steam rising from them. Red wine is already poured into glasses and a carafe of the remainder sits in the middle of the table.

Ah, Mr. Jarvis. You are a lifesaver.

Daniel and I sit down and immediately dig in. The only sounds around us are the clinking of fork and knife to china plate, chewing and sipping of wine. Within ten minutes, Daniel is finished and, with the exception of a few haricot verts, I am as well.

Daniel stretches his arms over his head. “That may have been the best meal I’ve ever eaten.”

“Same here.” I stretch as well, and our arms come down together, his right and my left arm touching. He looks at me, smiling, and his hand surrounds mine. He tugs lightly.

We lean in together. No more shyness, no more tentativeness. Lips meld together easily now. Open easily now. He tastes of steak and wine. Of Daniel. Delicious.

"You two need a room? I've got several to choose from."

Our lips abruptly part. I look up at the person standing in the doorway, already knowing from the voice who it is.

“Howard, is there a reason for you to be here?” I throw in an exasperated sigh for effect.

“Well, it is my place,” he says as he walks into the room.

Touché. But you won’t win this one. “Is there a reason why you are in this room at this moment?”

“Just to torment you, Peg.”

“Mission accomplished,” I say as Howard sits in the chair next to me. “Now you can leave.”

“I just got here.” He gives Daniel a knowing grin. “ And obviously I’ve missed a lot.”

He’s far too good at this. Why do I always let him get my goat? Because he’s Howard Stark, professional goat-getter.

Howard picks up an haricot vert from my plate. I try to stab his hand with my fork but miss.

“I came by to tell you I’m really sorry about Chief Thompson. Jarvis told me about what happened. Any change?”

“No, he’s still sedated,” I say as Howard chomps on the vegetable. “We haven’t been able to talk to him.”

Howard tries for another haricot vert and I stop him with my glare. He frowns.

“You got any leads on who did it?”

“Not yet,” Daniel says. “We were hoping to use your lab to take a look at what we found at the scene. It’s a long shot but maybe there’s something in Jack’s belongings that will give us something to go on.”

“Mi mansion es su mansion, Chief. Whatever you need.” Howard shoots a playful smirk at me. “The lab. A room. Whatever.”

“Goodnight, Howard.” I return his smirk with my most lethal look. It doesn’t work; his smirk becomes a full-blown smile but he does get up from the table.

"You kids have fun,” he says as he walks to the doorway. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “There’s nothing you wouldn’t do, Howard.”

“Exactly.” He turns to face me, gives me a quick flip of his eyebrows, then turns back toward the door.

“GoodNIGHT, Howard,” I say to his back as he walks out.

Bastard. A well-meaning bastard but a bastard nonetheless. When I look at Daniel, I know he’s trying to bite back laughter. I’m glad everyone is so amused.

“If he wasn’t such a good friend, I would kill that man.”

“Not yet, Peggy. We need his lab.”

“Speaking of which,” I say, “now that we have sustenance, let’s get to work.”

\-----------

I open the suitcase and Peggy starts removing the items, placing them on one of the lab tables. We inventory everything: Three dress shirts, three undershirts, two ties, three pair of underwear, one pair of suspenders, one suit jacket, one pair of suit pants, six socks, one pair of shoes and a shave kit.

We go through each item of clothing, including the jacket and hat, unfolding, shaking, checking pockets and linings. Nothing.

I pick up the shave bag. It’s only large enough to hold a container of shaving cream, a brush, razor and a tin of aftershave powder. I examine the lining, looking for tears or places to hide something. It’s in good shape.

“I knew we were grasping at straws,” I say. “Now what?”

Peggy isn’t listening. She’s looking inside the suitcase, eyes squinting, her face moving closer. “What is that?”

She reaches in and picks up a slip of paper. I must be tired; I completely missed it. The paper is the same dull beige as the lining of the suitcase, maybe three inches by two inches. There is no writing on one side, but the other side is printed in black ink. I can’t tell what it says.

“It’s a dry cleaning claim ticket,” Peggy says, her eyes widening.

I shrug. “Jack got his laundry done. So?”

“Not a big deal, unless it isn’t under Jack’s name.”

She shows me a first initial and last name written in blue ink on the ticket.

_V. Masters._

I didn't see that coming. At all.

I take the ticket, flip it over, then back to the front. “Julian’s Dry Cleaning. Same place Rose takes my stuff.”

Peggy shoots me a look. I know that look: Why is Rose Roberts in charge of your dry cleaning?

“Rose takes stuff for most of the guys. We’re a bunch of bachelors. Laundry isn’t first, or even second or third, in our minds. Plus, Rose is a mother hen.” At Peggy’s raised eyebrow, I quickly add, “I mean that in the best possible way. She watches over us.”

She doesn’t seem convinced but drops it.

I place the ticket on the table. “Why would Jack have this? I doubt Vernon would ask him to take care of his laundry.”

Peggy starts pacing. I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “Jack said he found the Arena Club pin in Vernon Masters’ belongings in your office. What if the pin is not the only thing Jack took?”

“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “But why a dry cleaning ticket?”

“Maybe it was part of something else. Papers.” Her breath catches. “A file folder.”

I nod slowly. “And the person who shot Jack took it.”

“But this fell out at some point,” she says.

We both look at the ticket, as if it will start telling us its secrets. No luck.

“The date on the ticket is the day before yesterday,” I say. “There’s no way Vernon could have picked up his dry cleaning before....”

“It must still be there.” Peggy takes the ticket. “The phone number is here. Let’s find out.”

I grab her arm. “Peggy, it’s after ten at night. They’re closed. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

A throat clears. We look up at Edwin Jarvis standing in the doorway.

“Mrs. Jarvis and I are turning in for the evening. Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” Peggy says, “but thank you for the dinner. It was wonderful.” I nod in agreement. “Say goodnight to Ana for us.”

Jarvis tips his head, hesitates. “If I may say so, Miss Carter, you two look dreadful.”

Although she’s tired, Peggy Carter can slap on an indignant expression faster than anyone I know. “You may not say so, Mr. Jarvis.”

He waves off her comment. “Just making an observation. You both need sleep.” Jarvis turns to me. “Mr. Stark suggested I turn down a room for you. It’s the other bedroom in Miss Carter’s suite, on the other side of the jack-and-jill bathroom. I hope that will be adequate.”

I run a hand through my hair. “I appreciate that, but it’s not necessary. I’ll head home.”

“Nonsense, Chief Sousa. It’s obvious you are dead on your feet. I've laid out some pajamas for you, if you so prefer. Also a new toothbrush and comb are in the bathroom."

“It might be better if you did stay, Daniel,” Peggy says. “I would be concerned about you driving home when you’re so tired.”

They’re both right. “OK, you win. I’ve got a duffel in the car. I’ll go get it.”

Jarvis nods as he walks out. “Excellent. I will see you both in the morning.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis,” Peggy says. I add in a “yes, thanks” at the same time.

“I could get used to this, Peggy,” I say, putting the ticket back inside the suitcase. “Home-cooked meals, turn-down service.”

“I find it does have its benefits. But then, I don’t have a mother hen looking after me.”

With that, she walks out. I chuckle and I do what I have done for almost two years now: I follow her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to LadyWillow for beta-ing this chapter. She was able to see what I could not.

I jerk awake. Where am I? Oh, my bed at Howard’s, my home away from home. I’m not in the bed, but on the bed, fully clothed. I must have dozed off.

I should just change into pajamas and go back to sleep, but for some reason, a hot shower sounds heavenly. I am still a bit sore from the rebar incident, and from trying to keep Daniel from getting sucked into the rift. Not to mention the other activities in which I partook earlier today.

A shower it is.

I knock on the bathroom door, hear nothing and enter. Daniel’s door to the bathroom is closed. It's funny that Mr. Jarvis called this a jack-and-jill bathroom. You easily could fit ten Jacks and ten Jills in it, and another two of each in the doorless shower.

My shower cap and towel are at their normal place, hanging on hooks next to the shower entrance. Something new is on the counter by the far sink: a small black bag, presumably Daniel’s.

I shed my clothes on the way to the shower, don the shower cap and step inside. The water comes on automatically, set to the perfect temperature. It feels so good to get under the hot spray. If I could wash away the sadness and stress of the day, it would be perfect.

Seeing Jack like that, knowing how much he would hate people seeing him so vulnerable, breaks my heart. Knowing that we are no closer to finding out who shot him makes me sick. There has to be something we’re missing. Who did this? Masters gave orders to have Daniel beaten. Was his last order to have Jack taken care of? Or is this bigger than Vernon Masters? Does Jack know more than he’s letting on?

How long have I been in here? My fingers aren’t pruning but they’re close. I move to the shower entrance and feel along the wall for my towel, which isn't on the hook now. Did it fall?

“Looking for this?”

I wipe the water from my eyes and meet his gaze. He’s just inside the door to his room, my towel in his hand. From his vantage point, he has a perfect view into the shower. He’s leaning against the counter and clad only in navy blue pajama bottoms. From the way the fabric is moving, I can tell his prosthesis is off. His crutch is against the doorjamb.

“Daniel, what you are doing in here?”

He shrugs. “Offering my services to wash your back?”

I walk out of the shower, standing naked, literally and figuratively. I should be uncomfortable but I am not. Daniel puts me at ease. Frighteningly so.

“Honestly, Peggy, I knocked and no one answered. I didn't hear the shower until I opened the door.” He nods to the black bag. “I needed salve, and… then I figured I'd stay and do some sight-seeing.”

“Really?” My hands instinctively go to my hips. “And how are the sights?”

“Stunning,” he says. “Even with that thing on your head.”

Bloody shower cap! I whip it off and toss it aside. “Liar.”

He laughs as he opens the towel, end to end stretched across his chest. He nods to it, inviting me.

I walk to him and he wraps the towel and his arms around me. I lean into him and lay my cheek on his chest. His beating heart makes me feel content.

“Helluva day,” he says.

I hum against his skin in agreement.

His hands go to my hair, and the towel drops to the floor. As I look up at him, I expect to see exhaustion, and I do, but I see something else. Something deeper, darker.

Need.

His lips meet mine, soft at first, but that softness turns to insistence in an instant. Tongues dance, hands explore. I feel him, hard against my stomach.

I can lose all sense of time and place when I am with him, though I am well aware that we are about to have it off in the loo.

And I don't give a damn.

I run two fingers down his chest, tracing the line of soft hairs, under the elastic band of the pajamas, until I wrap my hand around him. He groans against my lips.

A few strokes and his hand grabs my wrist. “If you don’t stop that, Peg, this will be over before it starts.”

“Then let’s start,” I say, stepping back. With a quick tug, the silk pants now sit below his hips, suspended by the elastic. No underwear clutters the scene. Perfect.

He moves to the side. “On the counter.”

“What’s on the counter?”

“You,” he says, reaching into the black bag and coming up with a small paper packet. “Hop up on the counter.”

I do, and my bare arse slaps the marble. I gesture to the packet as he opens it. “For emergencies?”

“You never know.” Leaning against the counter, he sheaths himself. His balance is astounding.

I open my legs to him and he stands between them. He has a hand planted on the counter on either side of my hips. I lead him to me, he pushes forward, and…

Oh yes.

I scoot down to the very edge of the counter and lock my legs around his hips. He slides in deeper.

Oh my, yes.

His lips capture mine. I can taste his need, and I’m positive he can taste mine. There is love there, I know, and there is respect, always, but in this exact moment, this is all about raw hunger.

His hips piston forward and back, forward and back, for… I have no idea how long. Too long yet not long enough.

He’s stopped moving. Before I can ask why, his hand is between us, fingers moving down, down, down…

“There! Oh right there!”

Did I say that aloud? Who cares? I lean back, giving him better access. He continues to coax me higher and higher with each stroke.

“Come on, Peg.”

I'm working on it, Daniel. I am, I am, I am…

“Daniel…Oh!”

Violent waves crash over me and I am drowning. Each wave leaves me gasping for air, my body shaking from the intensity.

I'm vaguely aware that his hand is back by my hip, steadying himself as he starts moving again. His rhythm increases, the sounds of our bodies colliding and his gasps getting louder and more frequent.

I want to help, I really do, but I now feel as if every bone in my body is liquid. He doesn't need the help. Within a few seconds, he whispers my name, then with a final gasp, he tenses. Moments later, he collapses against me.

“Wow,” he says against my shoulder.

Wow, indeed.

We stay that way, intertwined and connected, for what seems like hours but in reality are mere minutes. It is far too quick for my liking.

Finally, he lifts his head, his eyes bright. His hands frame my face. “You are so damn beautiful, Peggy Carter. I can't believe that you are here, with me.”

I cover his hands with mine. “Believe it, Daniel. I'm here with you. Only you.”

I place my forehead against his, squeeze his hands… and I do the unthinkable: I yawn. Not a dainty little yawn, but a wide-mouth yawn complete with sound.

He laughs. “You need sleep. So do I. It’s time for bed.”

“Which one?”

“Both.” He steps back, separating our bodies, rolling the condom into a tissue and tossing it in the dustbin. The pajama bottoms return to their rightful place. What a pity.

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“We’re exhausted,” he says. “If I’m in bed with you, sleep will be the last thing on my mind.”

I smile. “Good point.”

He leans in and kisses me, a wholly chaste kiss, considering what we just did. All too soon, he pulls away.

“Goodnight, Peggy.”

Yes, it has been a good night.

“Goodnight, Daniel.”

I stay in the bathroom, watching him limp into his room and close the door. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror: face flushed, lips swollen, lipstick smeared, hair tangled and wild. It's a side of myself I've never seen before in a mirror. I like it.

I don't even realize that I have on my pajamas until I am crawling into bed. Daniel is right: I need sleep. As my head hits the pillow, I think of what just happened and how decadently sinful it was. He and I are damn good together, on the job and off. I need to make a decision: Do I stay in California? Should I? Can I work for the man with whom I share a bed? I honestly don't know if...

Sun peeks through the gossamer curtains. It’s morning already? How long did I sleep? The baby grandfather clock says seven.

Seven?!

I bolt out of bed, through the bathroom, into Daniel’s room… and almost run right into Mr. Jarvis, who is making the bed.

“Oh, good morning, Miss Carter.”

“Why didn't anyone wake me?”

“I was just about to do so, after I freshened up this room. Chief Sousa left about an hour ago to go home and change. I offered to drive you wherever you need, which he suggested would be the hospital.”

I’m on alert. “Has there been a change in Jack’s condition?”

“He didn't say,” he says, fluffing pillows. “He has requested that you visit Chief Thompson and get an update, then meet him at the office. Something about covering the ticket angle from there.”

It makes sense. We can cover more ground apart than together. I have a feeling, though, that Daniel would prefer to stay away from the hospital.

“You get ready, Miss Carter. I'll whip up a quick breakfast for you.”

The next hour is a blur. A world-record shower, curlers thrown in haphazardly, makeup applied ridiculously fast, and poached eggs, toast and tea consumed hastily while I sit under the hair dryer.

Finally, we are on the road to the hospital. Instead of our normal chit-chat, Mr. Jarvis points out landmarks that he's pointed out before, the conversation obviously forced. He also keeps giving me sideways glances. It's awkward and it’s annoying.

“Spit it out, Mr. Jarvis.”

He looks at me, surprised. “Spit what out?”

“Whatever it is that you are just bursting at the seams to say.”

Now he looks indignant. Classic Edwin Jarvis. “I hardly think I'm bursting at the seams...”

“Spit it out!”

He clears his throat. “I was just going to say that I believe you made a good choice.”

“I haven't decided if I am staying in California.”

“I wasn't speaking of that.”

Oh. What we talked about on the way to the desert. And, from the sounds of it, he's been talking to Howard.

Bloody hell.

A snide comment, _I'm so happy you approve_ , crosses my mind, but I know he's being sincere.

“I believe I have as well,” I say, looking out the windshield.

The remainder of the ride is in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

Two agents sit outside the door to Jack’s room. They don’t stand when I approach. Quite a difference when you are not the chief. Or a male agent. I nod to them as I enter the room. 

Jack is in a hospital bed, which has been wheeled in next to the iron lung. A tube is going to his nose, two small nubs jutting out at the end, one sitting in each nostril. An oxygen tank sits next to the bed. He looks weak and pale, like I’ve never seen him before.

“Marge,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Get me some coffee and a donut, will ya?”

“We’re not in New York, Jack.” I step inside and close the door. “I see they let you out of your cage.”

"For now. They have me in that thing twelve hours, at night. Doc says it's helping. I don't believe him.”

I move to the side of his bed and put a hand on his forearm. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a fleet of trucks ran over my chest.” We’re silent for several seconds, then he looks at my hand. “Aw, Carter, I didn't know you cared.”

He may be weak but his sarcasm is in full force.

“I shouldn't,” I say, giving his forearm a squeeze before moving my hand away. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Vaguely. I was on the phone, heard a knock at the door. I opened it and boom.”

“Did you recognize who it was?”

“Never saw him before,” he says, shaking his head. “He had on sunglasses, clean shaven. That's all I got before I saw the gun.”

I nod, hoping my disappointment doesn't show. “We have your suitcase. Tell me everything that was in it.”

“Clothes, shoes, the usual suitcase stuff.” He cringes. “A folder. The one about you.” 

I knew it. One of the few times I didn’t want to be right.

He breathes in slowly, out slowly. “It wasn't in there, was it?”

I shake my head.

“What about my luggage bag?”

I do my best keeping shock from my voice. “Luggage bag?” 

“Leather, brown, straps on it. Sitting next to the suitcase.”

There was no bag in the room. I tell him exactly that, which elicits a mumbled word that I am sure is profane.

“What was in the bag, Jack?”

He takes a slow, deep breath, lets it out. “Some other files I found in Masters’ briefcase. The SSR file on Dottie Underwood. The others looked routine, so I didn’t dig deeper.” He takes in another deep breath, breathes out. “I didn’t have time to look at them later. I was busy saving the world.”

Jack’s breathing is getting more labored, his voice weaker. I should let him rest, but I have one more question, and he's the only one who can answer it.

“Why did you have the redacted file in your suitcase?”

He shrugs. “I don't know. Went back and forth on destroying it but changed my mind right before I got plugged. What's in that file is too valuable.”

My expression must have changed because he raises a hand from the bed. 

“I know it's fake, at least the parts about you. I wanted to reread it when I got home. My gut tells me Masters was involved in it.” He closes his eyes. “Can’t shake the feeling there's something important in there I missed.”

Neither can I.

\----------------

From my desk, I see Peggy arrive with Jarvis and Rose in tow. Jarvis has boxes in his arms, and Rose is directing him to a side room.

“Rose manages to get everyone to work, even if they don’t work here,” I say as Peggy enters my office.

She sits on the chair in front of my desk, looking rested. Not to mention gorgeous in a light blue blouse and black skirt. 

Focus, Sousa. 

“How's Jack doing?”

“He’s awake and out of the iron lung during the day, which I guess means he's improving.” She sighs. “He has no idea who the assailant was.”

I was afraid of that but I don't voice it.

She continues. “Jack had the fake file on me in his suitcase.”

“I knew there had to be something missing.”

“It gets worse. He had a luggage bag with additional files from Masters’ briefcase. One was on Dottie Underwood. He said the others didn't look important.”

A folder and a bag, both stolen. What the hell for? What was in them that got Jack shot?

“I'm afraid my news isn't any better,” I say. “I called Julian's Dry Cleaning. Masters’ laundry was picked up yesterday.”

“By whom?”

“The woman couldn't remember. Yesterday was busy and they had a few dozen customers come in. She couldn’t even tell me if it was male or female.” I pick up the ticket and wave it around, then toss it back on the desk. “Every lead ends with a brick wall.”

Peggy stands and grabs the ticket. “There has to be a reason why this would be buried in a folder.”

“Who says it was buried? I think we’re just making more out of it because we need something, anything that can lead us in the right direction. Plus, Vernon Masters’ name tends to put us on edge.”

She moves to sit on the edge of my desk, next to me, her arm raised. She tilts her head as she looks at the ticket in the sunlight filtering in through the blind slats. She’s close to me, so close I could run a hand up her leg, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to do just that. I flashback, vividly, to last night. Watching her beautiful face betray her ecstasy as she pulsed around me. 

“I’ll be damned,” she says, knocking me back to the present.

“What?”

She leans over my desk, slaps the ticket on the surface, writing side down. She grabs a pencil, tilts it and starts to lightly brush the lead over the ticket. A series of numbers starts to appear.

I can feel my jaw dropping. “What the hell?”

When she finishes, two rows of numbers are on the ticket.

_33 59 46  
-117 57 14_

“They look like coordinates.” I get up and start rifling through a pile of clutter. “There’s an atlas around here somewhere.”

“I remember hearing about this during the war,” she says. “Field commanders would write coordinates on a piece of paper and press just hard enough that the numbers would be lightly imprinted on paper underneath, usually a fake memo. Then they would destroy the original. That way, if a courier was captured, all they would have is a seemingly innocuous memo and no locations would be compromised.”

I find the atlas and splay it across my desk. “Thirty-four is in line with California. I wonder…” I find the rest of the latitude, then run a finger up from the longitude. “Yep, it’s California. Hacienda Heights.”

“Where is that?”

“Twenty, maybe thirty miles from here. It’s mostly an agricultural town, though.”

She looks at me, questioning.

“When I moved here, I thought it was a good idea to know the surrounding areas.” I tap the atlas on Hacienda Heights. “Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe they aren't coordinates. I can’t imagine what would be out there. It’s not like LA, where you can hide in plain sight.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” she says. “We need to assemble a small team, a few men for backup, just in case.”

“Who, Peggy? How do we know if any of my guys aren’t, or weren’t, in Vernon Masters’ pocket, or in the pocket of whoever Vernon worked for? The only three I even partially trust are guarding Jack. Hell, I don’t even know who in the lab is clean or dirty, except for Samberly, and there’s no way he’s backup material.” I shake my head. “Honestly, I don’t know who we can trust anymore.”

“I do.” I follow her gaze to the bullpen. Jarvis and Rose are standing by an empty desk, Rose talking animatedly.

No. No, no, no.

“Don’t you think we’ve put those two in enough danger already, Peggy? We have no idea what we’re walking into.”

“Those two have proven themselves time and again. They simply will be scouts. Stay in the car while we search the area, provide backup only if absolutely necessary.” She looks me in the eye. “I trust them with my life, Daniel. I know you do, too.”

Sometimes I hate it when she’s right.


	7. Chapter 7

We've been on the road for twenty minutes. Jarvis is driving, with Rose in the passenger seat, a detailed California atlas in her lap. She found it in one of those many piles in the office that she insists, “I know exactly what’s in it,” and she really does. I have to admit, I’d be lost without her.

The longer we’ve driven, the more sparse civilization gets. Random homes and barns dot the landscape, along with several fields, some active with crops, some dormant.

“Turn left at the next road,” Rose says to Jarvis.

Peggy and I are in the back seat with a messenger bag of essentials between us. We haven't said a word since we got in the car. We didn't get a chance, with the World Series of chatter going on in the front seat. They talked about everything from bakeries to lawn care.

Jarvis takes a left and we’re jostled by the change from asphalt to dirt road. The car slows to a crawl, and we feel every rock under the tires. In the distance, I see a pile of rubble. As we get closer, the pile of rubble shows signs of once being a house. 

We then pass an enormous field that at one time must have been filled with crops. Past the field is a small grove of trees, which, interestingly enough, looks healthy. On the other side of the trees is a tall barn clad in rusted metal. Beyond the barn is another field of nothing.

“Here we are,” Rose says, looking at Jarvis, who stops the car by the barn. She turns to look at me.

“Are you sure this is it, Rose?”

“According to the atlas, Chief, yes. I might be off by a few feet, but there’s nothing else here.”

I look at Peggy. “You ready?”

“Always,” she says.

I'm convinced this is a wild goose chase, but there's no sense in taking chances.

“Jarvis, back the car up and hide in those trees. Rose, you two do not move from that spot.” I hand a walkie-talkie to Rose. “If you see someone approaching, radio us. Do not attempt to follow.”

I get a “Yes, Chief” from Rose and a nod from Jarvis.

Peggy and I exit the car, the bag slung over Peggy's shoulder. Guns at ready, we slowly approach the barn, which is at least two stories but quite narrow. There are double doors at the front. Only one other door is visible at the very top, most likely to a hayloft.

The double doors have the same metal siding as the rest of the barn but have long door handles, equally as rusted. I expected a chain and padlock, but one of the doors has what looks like a standard deadbolt lock.

Peggy examines the lock, frowning. She unzips the bag and retrieves a flashlight, pointing it at the lock. “I’ve never seen a mechanism like this before. I’m not sure what kind of key…”

She shoves the flashlight and bag into my hand. “Stand in front of me,” she says. 

Then she lifts her skirt. 

“Jesus, Peggy, what...?”

I see a black lace garter peeking out on one leg, black satin straps holding up nylons, a hint of the soft skin of her thigh. Skin I'm becoming more and more familiar with...

Her hands move to the garter. Finally, I see what she’s after. On one of the satin straps is a silver stick pin with an A emblem on top. She removes the pin, and the skirt flutters into place.

“Ever since Jack was shot, I've been wearing it here for safekeeping.”

Is it any wonder why I love this woman?

Holding the base of the pin, she turns it and two prongs pop out. She places the key in the lock and turns. It clicks open.

We look at each other.

Peggy pulls the door open and we wait. No sounds. No lights, either. I hand the flashlight to her and reach into the bag for my own.

I was wrong. This isn't a wild goose chase. This is walking into the lion’s den.

\-------------

I enter first, gun drawn, with Daniel close behind. My flashlight is the only one illuminated. The beam spans the wall on my left to reveal a set of worn wood stairs. I raise the beam up. A narrow wood balcony overlooks the ground floor, wraps around above the double doors and stops at the hayloft door. Near the stairs is a lift, which goes to the top of the barn. 

Daniel’s flashlight illuminates, our beams crossing as we survey the rest of the space. The room seems empty until we get near the wall opposite the doors. I spot two long tables, with a large metal storage cabinet between them. 

The surface of the first table we encounter is dotted with pieces of metal, glass tubing and copper wires. Daniel moves to the cabinet and tries to open it. He shakes his head; it’s locked. 

I point to the second table. As we approach, I see an oblong object, mostly metal. Springs jut from several angles, and wiring snakes through and around metal casings.

At the other end of the table are dozens of pieces of paper. Daniel picks up the object while I walk around the table. I holster my gun, pick up one of the papers and aim the flashlight at it.

“Formulas,” I say as I pick up another paper. “Drawings. Daniel, I think these are Whitney Frost’s plans.”

He looks at me, the dread I feel inside showing on his face. “Someone is trying to build another rift generator.”

One of the papers has formulas crossed out with scribblings beside them in different handwriting. “Looks like they ran into a road block.”

“Actually, that might be my fault,” Daniel says. “When we were taking pictures of her plans, on our way out, I changed one of the formulas.”

I can’t help but smile. He shrugs and smiles back.

Suddenly, powerful overhead lights come on. I'm blinded for a second but once my eyes adjust, I look around, then up and see her. Standing on the balcony next to the lift is Dottie Underwood. The rifle in her hands is trained on me. I go for my gun.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she says as she changes her aim to Daniel. “You know I'm a better shot than you, Peggy. You fire at me, I kill him.”

She is a far better shot. I lower my gun.

“You, too, Chief,” she says. “Slide the guns this way, please. The crutch, too. Then hands where I can see them.”

We do as she says. The guns skitter across the concrete floor and hit the side wall. The crutch only makes it a few feet.

“I wasn’t expecting company so soon but this is good. You two are going to gather up all of the goodies on that table for me.” She points the rifle at me. “You're going to put everything in that bag you have.” Her aim goes back to Daniel.

I hesitate, then unzip the bag and remove the radio and lock-picking tools, the only remaining items. Daniel picks up the device while I start gathering the papers. 

I need to keep Dottie talking, try to distract her. She tends to get cocky when we verbally spar, and that can be a weakness if I play it right. A thought comes to mind, one that's been there ever since Daniel got the phone call from Rose.

“Did you shoot Jack Thompson?”

Dottie smiles that annoying smirk of hers. “I didn’t need to. Someone beat me to it.”

Is she lying? For some reason, I think she isn't.

“But you saw who shot him,” I say, not a question but a statement.

Dottie does not answer.

“And you took the file folders.”

Again, she is silent. Dottie Underwood is ruthless and dangerous, but one thing I’ve learned about her is that when she does not answer, you’ve hit the nail on the proverbial head. She was there, saw who shot Jack and then took the folders.

“Why did you take them?”

She hesitates for several seconds. “Let’s just say I’ve been watching all of you. I saw Chief Thompson take things that didn’t belong to him.” She makes a _tsk tsk_ sound. “A man of the law should know better. It was my civic duty to retrieve those items and return them to their rightful owner.”

“Their rightful owner is dead,” I say.

“If you say so, Peg.”

What the bloody hell does that mean?

“Good job, team,” Dottie says, never once taking her gaze or aim away from us. “Peggy, please do the honors and bring the bag to the elevator. Chief, keep your hands where I can see them.”

I take the bag and start walking toward the front of the barn. Out of the corner of my eye, I see our guns but they are too far away.

“So you followed us,” I say. Keep her talking. Distract her, then make your move.

“I didn’t need to. I saw the you and the ticket. You are one smart cookie, Peg, figuring that out.”

“How did you get in here?”

She stays silent.

I egg her on. “I'm assuming you read the folders.”

She feigns shock. “That would be wrong.”

“Which is exactly why you’d do it.”

I hear her laugh. The gun is trained on me but I see her glancing at Daniel every few seconds.

“I admit that my curiosity won,” she says. “I’m flattered you had such a large file on little ol’ me. It was an interesting read. A little slow in places, some continuity issues, but overall I give it three out of five stars.” 

“What about the redacted file?”

“Didn’t see that one. I’ll bet is was good, though. They always are.” She nods to the lift when I reach it. “Put the bag in and step back. Slowly.”

I do just that, my eyes darting around to find anything I can use as a weapon. There are pieces of old lumber but nothing that would reach two stories. We can't let her leave here.

When I'm several feet away, Dottie presses a button. With a shimmy, the lift starts moving. It takes several seconds before it’s level with the balcony. Her gun, still trained on me, never moves until she reaches down to pick up the bag. I contemplate how many steps there are separating me and the stairs.

I take a small side step toward the stairs. Then another.

She looks right at me and the rifle is aimed at me again. I stop.

“Oh, I forgot that congratulations are in order, Peggy. You and Chief Sousa are an item. That was quite a kiss you planted on him.”

The rifle is no longer pointed at me...

“I hate to break you two up.”

...but at…

“DANIEL!!”

A flash of light from the rifle.

I turn in time to see him hit the cabinet hard, grasping to keep from falling but not succeeding. He crashes to the ground, along with the cabinet.

I look back up and Dottie is at the hayloft door.

“Daniel! Are you OK?”

No answer.

I run to the stairs, take the first few steps.

“DANIEL!”

Nothing.

Looking back up, I see the open hayloft door open.

Bloody hell!

I run back in Daniel’s direction, grabbing my gun as I go. I fire toward her but she's already halfway through the door. 

When I get to him, I immediately see the blood on his suit jacket on the left shoulder. The cabinet came mere inches from landing on his head.

“Daniel,” I say, shaking his arm. He doesn’t respond. My hand shakes as I feel for a pulse on his wrist. I find one, strong and steady.

Calm down, Peggy. He's alive. 

And you just let public enemy number one escape. Again.

Gently, I lift Daniel's shoulder. The jacket has an oval-shaped tear in the back, blood clinging to the frayed fabric. A clean shot. Thank goodness!

I need to get him out of here. I'm strong but I've never carried an unconscious man out of a building that seems to get longer every time I try to judge the distance. I lift him into a sitting position, leaning him against the wall. Then I hear a wonderful sound.

“Peg, what…”

I put a hand on his cheek. “You're going to be fine,” I say, more for my benefit than his.

The radio crackles. “Chief, someone just came out of the top of the barn and jumped to the ground. What's going on?”

I’d completely forgotten about the walkie-talkie! I run to the table and grab the radio. “Rose, tell Mr. Jarvis to get the car as close to the barn as possible, and then I need him in here. Daniel’s been shot.”

I hear an “Oh God” in response.

Telling Daniel to hold still, I remove his jacket. Next I work on the buttons of his shirt.

“I know I'm irresistible and all,” he says, “but this is hardly the time and place.”

“Very funny.” I look at him and he smiles weakly. “And yes, you are quite irresistible.”

I remove his dress shirt, revealing an undershirt dyed red at the left shoulder. The undershirt is next to go, which fully reveals the wound. Blood oozes from the bullet hole. I wad up the undershirt and place it firmly against the wound. He winces but says nothing.

The whoosh of one of the double doors catches my attention. Edwin Jarvis is running toward us at full speed.

“You let her get away,” Daniel says. It's not a question; he knows the answer.

I do my best to keep my expression calm, knowing I am failing miserably. “You know I have trouble being dispassionate, Chief.”


	8. Chapter 8

I remember bits and pieces of the past few hours, but nothing in its entirety. I remember Jarvis helping me out of the barn, but not getting into the car. I remember being in the back seat, my head in Peggy's lap and her hand caressing my hair, but not the drive. I remember an argument about whether or not to take me to a hospital, but not the final decision. I remember alcohol being poured onto my shoulder -- a little hard to forget since it still hurts like hell -- but not being undressed or my prosthetic being removed.

All I know for sure right now is that I’m in the same bed as last night at Stark’s house, my shoulder is throbbing out a dance tune and my head feels like someone's taken a sledgehammer to it. I sit up and realize immediately it's a bad idea. The room spins and I fall back onto the bed. 

“Daniel, what are you doing?”

I turn my head quickly, another bad idea, and through the little silver flecks in front of my eyes, I see her walking through the bathroom. She's dressed casually in wide-leg blue pants and a button-down white shirt. I honestly believe she could wear a flour sack and look stunning.

“Stay right where you are,” she says, approaching the bed. “You most likely have a concussion. You most definitely have a bullet wound. You need to rest.”

“Says the woman who was working less than twenty-four hours after being impaled.”

She gives me a wry smile. I give it right back.

“You will do as I say because Mr. Jarvis left me in charge of your care for the next several hours.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a salute.

“I just got back from making some arrangements. I made the executive decision to leave Osborne guarding Jack and take Baxter off to go with Greene to the barn. Dr. Samberly is with them.”

I sigh and shake my head.

“I know, but we need someone there to inventory all of the materials, as well as to identify what everything is. After Mr. Jarvis drops Rose off at the hospital to keep an eye on Jack, he will join them at the barn. All materials will be released to Dr. Samberly, and Mr. Jarvis will bring the doctor and the materials here.”

“Good work, Agent,” I say with a smile.

“Thank you, Chief.”

She takes my hand and I pull her closer.

“How long was I out?”

She glances at a clock on the side table. “Almost two hours. Mr. Jarvis says you must be awakened every three hours for the first twelve.”

“When did he get his medical degree?”

“Considering who his employer is, and Howard's propensity to try out his inventions on himself, Mr. Jarvis is well-versed in the treatment for concussions. And thanks to me, he's become quite good at weapon wound care.”

I nod to the blue pajama bottoms and what’s left of my leg. “Did you…?” 

“Yes,” she says softly. “I figured you would be more comfortable.” 

Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done, at work and in bed, and I find this, her removing my prosthesis, to be the most intimate.

“Get some sleep,” she says. “I’ll wake you in three hours, or the alarm will.” She nods to the side table. “Mr. Jarvis gave me the clock to assist. The adrenaline of earlier is gone and I'm afraid I might fall asleep on the job.”

I pat the bed next to me, where my good arm is. She hesitates, then walks around the bed and climbs in. She sits next to me, legs under her, and reaches around to the bandage on my shoulder, smoothing one of the edges.

“The bullet avoided anything vital,” she says.

I slip my arm around her. “It had to be my crutch arm, didn’t it? Guess it could have been worse. I was lucky.”

She shakes her head. “If she was shooting to kill, you'd be dead. This wasn’t luck. It was just a diversion.”

“So she could get away with Whitney Frost’s plans.”

She tenses. “Thank you for bringing that to my attention, yet again.”

“It’s not your fault, Peggy. We both know how hard it is to make that choice, save a life or catch the bad guy, or girl.”

“I know it quite well,” she says with a sad smile. “I have the innate ability to put those closest to me in danger, especially the ones I love.”

There it is. The word I’ve been waiting to hear. The word I wasn’t sure I would ever hear.

“Don’t look so shocked, Daniel,” she says, her hand going to my face. “I love you. I thought that was apparent.” She smiles. “I wouldn’t have a shag in the loo with just any man.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I know you wouldn’t. I’ve been in love with you for a while, what seems like forever. I wasn’t sure the feeling was mutual.”

“It’s very mutual.”

I lift my head, ignoring the dizziness and pain, to kiss her. Deepening the kiss, I instinctively move my other arm to hold her. The pain that shoots through my shoulder is intense but I try to hide it. It doesn't work.

She pulls back. “Daniel, I think we need to table this until you are able to fully participate.”

Unfortunately, she’s right. Peggy stretches out next to me, laying her head on my chest. I tighten my arm around her.

“I wasn’t sure we’d get here,” she says. 

“Get where?”

“Here, like this. I valued your friendship so much that I was willing to settle only for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“In case you haven't noticed, I seem to make enemies easier than I make friends.” I laugh and she swats my chest. “So when I do have a friend, I tend to hang onto them. Howard, for instance. He infuriates me every chance he gets, but I know I can count on him for anything."

I nod but stay silent. She wants to share, a rarity for Peggy Carter, so I’m all ears.

“When you left New York, I lost one of my best friends. And when you wouldn’t return my calls, I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“You’re pretty unforgettable, Peg.”

“I’ve heard that before.” I feel her smile against my skin. “When I got here and found out about you and Violet, I knew I had lost you, or at least lost the chance for us to be more than friends. Not exactly the way I wanted it to turn out, but I was willing to do it to keep you as a friend.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I don’t. 

“Do you still love her?”

I hesitate. “I still care about her. Hell, I was ready to marry her. I suppose I could have been happy with her, but in the back of my mind, I would be thinking of you and what could have been. I loved Violet. I don’t know that I was in love with her. Does that make sense?”

She nods. “I was engaged to a man, several years ago.”

My body must have tensed because I feel her smile against me.

“I don’t talk about it much. Anyway, Fred was a nice man. A good man. A safe man.”

“You thought safe was what you wanted,” I say, knowing the feeling all too well. “I’ve come to the realization that safe is highly overrated.”

“Indeed it is.” She lifts her head and starts to pull away. “Get some sleep, Daniel.” 

“Stay with me.”

With a nod, she lays back down, this time next to me, her arm wrapped around mine. 

There’s still more I want to say but my head is pounding. My heart is willing but my body won't cooperate. We will continue this discussion, Peggy. Count on it. 

\-------------

I hear a knocking sound. Where am I? I feel an arm entwined with mine, hear soft snoring. When I open my eyes, I see Daniel next to me.

The knocking happens again.

“Miss Carter?”

It's Edwin Jarvis. “Yes?”

“I have some important news to share. May I enter?”

Daniel stirs as I get out of bed and open the door. “What’s the news?”

“I’m afraid there was a situation at the barn.”

Daniel is fully awake now and has propped himself up against the headboard.

Mr. Jarvis continues. “The barn is no more. When I arrived, the agents and Dr. Samberly were rummaging through burned rubble. There was nothing other than melted metal and charred wood.”

I look at Daniel and he shakes his head. His words from earlier echo in my mind: Each lead ends with a brick wall. Or, in this case, a burned one.

“I helped them go through the remains,” Mr. Jarvis says. “Dr. Samberly found some parts, and he thinks they could have been used for a rift generator build, but they were so damaged that he couldn’t say for sure.”

“Right back to square one,” Daniel says. “We can’t catch a break.”

“Miss Carter, I will be out for a while. I need to fetch Miss Roberts from the hospital.”

“Wait, I’ll go with you,” I say. “I’ll fill Jack in and make sure Osborne knows to be on high alert.”

“I'm coming with,” Daniel says.

I look at him tersely. “You'll do nothing of the sort. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of this.”

“I know you are, but this is an SSR investigation and I am the chief.”

My hands go to my hips. “Are you pulling rank on me, Daniel?”

He shrugs his good shoulder. “If I have to.”

“And how do you suppose you will get around? You’re not exactly very mobile at the moment.”

He swings his leg over the edge of the bed, sways a little, then motions to me. “Hand me my crutch.”

I don’t move. I refuse to encourage him. But Mr. Jarvis fetches the crutch from its resting place against the wall and hands it to Daniel. I give both men my most stern expression but neither will look at me to see it.

Daniel readies the crutch, pushes up. He teeters, so much so that I reach out for him, but he rights himself and takes a small step.

“I can do this,” he says through gritted teeth, “I just need my leg.” He's in severe pain but he's too stubborn to give up.

“You’re going to make things worse if you put weight on your shoulder like that.”

“Oh!” Mr. Jarvis says suddenly as he walks quickly out the door. “Back in a jiffy!”

Daniel sits heavily on the edge of the bed. "Are you going to help me get dressed or are you going to continue pouting?”

I am not pouting! Am I?

“I appreciate your concern,” he says softly, “but there’s no time for rest, Peggy. Dottie is out there and she has the plans to build a rift generator. We have to do something, and we’re already several men down. Besides, you would do the exact same thing.”

As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s right. 

With a resigned sigh, I gather his clothes, which consist of the clothes he had on in the barn. Blood covers the left shoulder of the dress shirt. The jacket is a bit better, with a hole in the front and back, still with blood but not soaked.

I wrap the shirt around him and help him slip the bad arm in the sleeve. He buttons the shirt as I lay the trousers next to him.

“I need my leg first,” he says. 

I bring it to him as he slips off the pajama bottoms. He seats the prosthetic, then stands. He sways so much that I have to catch him.

“Sorry, just need to get my bearings.” He stands straight up for a few seconds, then bends to get the straps. He sways again.

I steady him again. “Let me.”

“No,” he says as I start to kneel before him. “Just give me a minute.”

I glance up at him and see the internal battle going on in his expression. He doesn’t want to be seen as helpless, but he knows he can’t do this alone. He doesn’t realize that I would never see him as helpless.

“Let me help you, Daniel. I want to.”

He hesitates, then finally nods.

“Is it seated OK?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” he says as I take the straps.

“No, the one of in your left hand goes on the right,” he says and I switch the straps. I may have taken ten times longer than he would, but the prosthetic is in place and secured.

“Thank you, Peg.” The sincerity in his eyes nearly takes my breath away.

“Thank you for letting me,” I say as I grab his trousers from the bed. He lifts the leg with the prosthetic, and I slip the material on and up. He puts a hand on my shoulder as he lifts his good leg, and I move the trouser leg up. 

Given where my face is right now, I can’t help but notice that he is getting aroused. He’s not the only one.

I pull the trousers up, standing in the process. I start to zip the pants but he moves my hands away.

“I’ll take it from here,” he says. “Otherwise, we won’t be going anywhere.”

“Then my evil plan is working.”

A smile graces his lips. “No, it isn’t, but nice try.” 

“I wish you would stay here. I don't like seeing you in pain.”

He takes my hand. “My head is better, and the shoulder will be fine. I have to walk, Peggy, and this is how I do it, unless you have another solution.”

No, but as Mr. Jarvis returns to the room, I see that he is pushing the perfect one: a wheelchair. Draped over the back of it is a piece of clothing.

“Chief Sousa, I took the liberty of getting one of Mr. Stark’s jackets. It won't be a perfect fit but it will do the job.”

I point to the wheelchair. “Why is this in the house?”

“It was a prop from one of Mr. Stark’s movies.” He clears his throat. “It seems he found… other uses for it… privately. But don’t worry, it’s clean.”

I eye the chair as if it is the most vile thing I've ever seen, and it might very well be. “I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“Right,” Mr. Jarvis says. “Shall we go, then?”


	9. Chapter 9

“Miss Roberts is in the cafeteria,” Jarvis says as he pushes me through the sliding doors of the hospital entrance. “When I spoke to her, she said something about Chief Thompson telling her she had outstayed her welcome by several hours.”

“Typical Jack.” I glance at Peggy, who is walking beside us. “I could have walked this, you know.”

“I'm sure you could have,” she says, “being the bullheaded man you are.”

“Bullheaded? You are calling _me_ bullheaded?”

I hear Jarvis chuckle. So does Peggy.

“Mr. Jarvis, did you find something amusing?”

“Not at all,” he says. “Well, perhaps a touch.”

We turn the corner to the critical care unit, and the door to Jack’s room is wide open, a uniformed officer standing outside and medical personnel moving around Jack’s bed.

“Oh no,” Peggy says, picking up speed. Jarvis follows close behind with me.

We stop just outside of the room and I flash my badge to the officer. He enters the room and talks to one of the nurses, who glances at us.

“I’m going to get Miss Roberts,” Jarvis says and quickly walks away.

“I’m Emily Astley,” the nurse says as she approaches. “Mr. Thompson is stable now. We don’t think there will be any lasting effects.”

“Lasting effects from what?”

“We’re not quite sure. All we know is that someone got into his room, possibly to strangle him.”

“There should have been an agent posted outside of this room,” I say. “Where was he?”

The head nurse shrugs. “You’ll need to ask the nurse on duty.”

Emily walks to the nurses’ station and puts her arm around another nurse, whose back is to us. I know right away that it’s Violet.

As Violet walks toward us, I see the fear in her face.

She reaches out, puts a hand on the wheelchair. “Daniel, what happened to you?”

That’s Violet, thinking of others before herself.

“Oh, uh, just a pulled muscle in my crutch arm,” I say. “I’m fine. Really.”

She doesn't believe me but she just nods, then looks over my head and nods to Peggy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rose and Jarvis running toward us.

“I was just in there not thirty minutes ago,” Rose says, out of breath. “What happened?”

Peggy puts a hand on her shoulder. “He's OK, Rose. Seems he had an unwelcome visitor.”

Rose glances around. “Where's Osborne?”

“Good question,” Peggy says.

I turn to Violet. “Can you tell us what happened? Start from the beginning.”

“Of course. I came on duty a little early. I noticed that Agent Osborne was there instead of Agent Greene. I checked in on Jack. He was due to move into the iron lung soon. Then I checked on my other patients. When I got back to the nurses’ station, I noticed another man talking to Agent Osborne. Then the man went inside Jack’s room. I didn’t think anything of it until I saw Agent Osborne leave.”

I nod, encouraging her.

She continues. “It didn’t feel right, you know? So I went into the room and the man… He was doing something. He had his hand on the side of Jack’s head, and veins were popping out all over Jack’s face. Then the man turned and looked at me, and he started walking toward me but I ran out of the room and called security. By the time they got there, the man was gone.”

“You did great,” I say. “That was quick thinking. Do you remember what the man looked like?”

Violet closes her eyes for a few seconds, then opens them. “He was an older man, mostly bald, round face, large forehead. His eyes.” She shudders. “There was something… terrible in his eyes. Dark, black eyes. I've never seen anything like it.”

We're all silent for a few moments, letting the information sink in as we watched the nurses file out of Jack's room.

“Miss Roberts,” Jarvis says quietly, “I will take you home if you wish.”

Rose turns to me. “I don't know. Are you sure you don’t need me, Chief?”

“Nothing we can do now, Rose,” I say. “I’ll give you call later and update you.”

Reluctantly, Rose walks away, Jarvis beside her. Peggy starts to follow them.

“I’ll be right back,” she says.

I turn back to Violet and see Emily approaching. “Vi, I'm sorry. Could you help me with Mr. Ashland?”

“I have to get back to work,” Violet says to me, apologetic.

“Absolutely. Is it OK for us to talk to Jack?”

“He’s been through quite a bit, Daniel. I don’t know if that it’s a good idea.”

“We won’t be long. We don’t want to compromise his health, but it’s very important that we talk to him tonight.”

Violet hesitates. “I suppose so, but give me about twenty minutes. I need to help Emily, then I want to check Jack’s vitals again. His heart rate was quite elevated earlier.”

“Thank you,” I say. “You saved his life.”

She nods and adds a small smile as she walks away.

Peggy walks back to me. I give her a questioning look.

“I sent them on an errand,” she says. “Just a hunch.”

“Care to share?”

“Only if you share why you didn't seem surprised that Violet was Jack’s nurse.”

Uh oh.

Before I have to say a word, I see a familiar face approaching.

“Detective Freeman, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Freeman says, shaking my extended hand. “It's good to see you and Agent Carter again.”

It is? Seems to me, Peggy and I were the butt of your partner’s jokes not too long ago. I keep that sentiment to myself.

Freeman motions to the wheelchair. “Temporary transportation, I hope.”

“Very temporary,” I say, happy I can’t see Peggy’s face.

Freeman glances down at his notebook. “I'm glad I ran into you. Since Chief Thompson was initially our case, they called Hansen and I to follow up. Hansen is following up on another case, so I'm it. I’ve gotten statements from everyone on duty in the unit. It was change of shift, so there's quite a few. I'll be happy to type these up tonight and messenger you a copy tomorrow morning.”

I’m surprised at his thoroughness. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Freeman fidgets slightly, as if he's uncomfortable in his own skin. “I want to apologize for Detective Hansen’s behavior before. I assure you, his comments were his own. He has some… personal issues going on, so he's been on edge. But he's a good cop.”

“No need to apologize,” I say, a new plan coming to mind. “Detective, how much freedom do you have outside of Hansen’s purview?”

“Well, we’re partners, ” he says, eyebrows raised. “Though he is senior. However, because I’m the only one here, I can make some judgment calls myself. What did you have in mind, Chief?”

“We need assistance with security. Would you be able to request a uniformed officer outside of Chief Thompson’s room twenty-four-seven?”

Freeman nods slowly. “I can put in the request. Can’t make any promises that it would be approved, but I will make sure to justify it.”

“We also need someone to keep an eye on the nurse who saw the assailant,” Peggy says, as if reading my mind. “She should be fine here with increased police presence but I would be concerned when she is at home.”

“I’ll add to the request that we have someone patrol in her neighborhood. I'll keep you posted.” Freeman reaches into his pocket and produces a business card. “Call me if you need anything. I’m intrigued by this case. There’s something going on, something strange.”

You have no idea how strange, Detective Freeman. No idea at all.

\---------------

Violet motions to us. I wheel Daniel into Jack’s room.

“His heart rate is normal now,” Violet says. “You can talk to him, but I’ll be in periodically to make sure he doesn’t getting overtaxed.”

I set the brake on the wheelchair, then move to the side of the bed as Violet leaves. Jack is propped up in a partially seated position, the top of the mattress at an angle.

“Jack,” I say.

“Yeah?” His eyes are still closed.

“Can you tell us what happened?”

“Wish I could,” he says. “One of the nurses said someone came in here but I don't remember it. Last thing I remember was you coming into the room, Carter.”

“That was this morning, Jack.”

My gaze meets Daniel’s. Something is wrong.

“Rose was in here less than an hour ago,” Daniel says.

Jack opens his eyes and confusion clouds his face. “I… I don't remember that.”

Something is very wrong.

“Sousa, what are you doing in a wheelchair?” He gaze moves to me. “I should know that, shouldn’t I?” He cringes at my nod. “What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I remember?”

“Jack, calm down,” I say. “Someone has tried to kill you twice. A little memory loss is the least of your worries.”

Even as I say the words, I know that no one in the room -- myself included -- believes me.

Mr. Jarvis returns from his errand, holding a manila folder. He hands it to me.

“Did you show it to Violet?”

“Yes,” Mr. Jarvis says. “She said this is the man she saw. No question.”

Daniel’s gaze is intense. “What are you up to, Peggy?”

“Something awful,” I say as I open the folder and extract its only contents. “I had Rose get this at the office, a photograph of who I suspected was the assailant. Violet just confirmed it.”

I turn the photograph around so that Jack and Daniel can see the face of Vernon Masters.

“That’s impossible,” Daniel says. “Masters is dead.”

Jack nods. “Someone is masquerading as him. It can’t be the real Vernon Masters.”

“There was no body, Peggy. Whitney Frost… consumed him. It’s the only answer.”

“It’s not the only answer, Daniel,” I say. “Something that Dottie said bothered me. When I said that the owner of those file folders was dead, she responded ‘If you say so’.”

“I thought she meant that the folders didn’t belong to Masters.”

“So did I, until now.” Instinctively, I start pacing. “Hear me out. Jason Wilkes and Whitney Frost were infected with Zero Matter after it exploded with them in the room.”

“Yeah,” Daniel says.

I continue. “Jason couldn't hold back the Zero Matter that was inside him. Whitney and Vernon were in the room that Jason entered. Jason said he believes Masters was still alive before the Zero Matter exploded from him.”

“Wait, wait,” Daniel says, doubt weaving around his words. “Are you saying that Vernon Masters survived that? That he’s still alive?”

I nod. “And he's infected with Zero Matter.”

You could hear a pin drop in the room as the severity of my words settle in. We thought Whitney Frost was bad on the greed and power scales. Vernon Masters is off the charts.

Jack breaks the silence. “If what you say is true, Carter, we’re up shit creek without a paddle and in a leaky boat.”

Not a terribly eloquent assessment but quite accurate.

“What I want to know is how Dottie figures into this,” Daniel says.

I shrug. “Maybe she’s working with him. She's seen the power of Zero Matter first-hand. And Dottie always has been attracted to power, like a moth to a flame. Having that kind of power, and having the plans to harness it, would be too tempting to pass up.”

“And she probably heard me say that I changed one of the formulas,” Daniel says.

“That’s why I fought for you to not go to a hospital. You’re a target now. You’re the only one who knows which formula it was.”

“Peggy, I can’t remember which one I changed. They all looked the same.”

“But she doesn’t know that.”

“If she knows if Masters is alive and what he’s up to” Jack says, “we need her flush her out, and quick. We need to set a trap.”

Daniel nods. “With me as bait.”

“Absolutely not,” I say, knowing that he is absolutely right.

“Peggy, it’s the only way.”

I sigh. “If, and that's a big if, we are doing this, it needs to be planned to the minute. Nothing can be left to chance.”

“If we’re setting up any kind of operation,” Daniel says, “we’re going to need reinforcements. Looks like Osborne is one of Masters’ guys, so I’m down to almost no personnel.”

Jack points to the table next to his bed. “Just hand me the phone and I'll have guys out here as soon as they can get a flight.”

“First we need a plan,” Daniel says.

We sit in silence for several minutes. I see faces light up with a thought, then collapse seconds later. There has to be a way to do this safely and efficiently. We need to have the drop on Dottie before she gets the drop on us. It has to happen in a confined area, somewhere where we can hide backup without her knowing, and that has as few entrance and exit opportunities as possible. It needs to be in public but not with crowds. We can't endanger anyone...

The proverbial light bulb pops over my head. Daniel catches my smile, which stays on my face long enough for him to realize I have an idea.

“What are you thinking, Peggy?”

My smile widens. “Chief Sousa, I fancy a night at the cinema. Care to join me?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thisisforshipping, hope this cheers you up. :)

By the time Violet kicked us out of Jack’s room, it was nighttime. A stop at my place, and I have my essentials and my own clothes to wear. I even have my pajamas, cotton pants that are infinitely more comfortable. I should be in my own bed, but I’ve been quarantined to my surrogate bed until tomorrow morning. Peggy insists on following Jarvis’ instructions about the concussion. No amount of telling her that my head is just fine will work.

Speak of the devil, Peggy enters my room from the bathroom. She’s in her floral-print pajamas and carrying our dinner: a tray of cheese and apple slices, along with a bottle of wine.

“Rose is amazing,” she says around a piece of cheese. “She was able to get the four agents from the New York office on the first flight out.” She sits on the bed. “With the time difference, they should be here by early afternoon.”

I grab an apple slice. “I talked to Neal… sorry, Freeman, and he’s getting a team together from his office to act as moviegoers. He even is getting some of the female dispatchers, so we’ll have couples.”

She mumbles an “um hm” while taking a drink straight from the wine bottle.

“Peggy, there's such a thing called a wine glass. I'm pretty sure Howard has some.”

She waves off my comment. “My hands were full. Besides, we swap spit on a regular basis. Drinking from the same wine bottle is nothing.”

From the way she's acting, I have a feeling she's had more than a few swigs already. We eat in silence until the rest of the food is gone and the bottle is empty.

“I'll put all this in the other room,” she says, getting up from the bed and walking through the bathroom. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, better. It's possible you were right that I should take it easy on the shoulder.”

Putting the tray and bottle in her room, she turns around. “I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that. Could you repeat it?”

I bite back a smile. “You heard me.”

She stops at the bathroom counter and grabs her toothbrush, then slathers toothpaste on it. I start to climb out of bed.

“Daniel,” she says around a mouthful of toothpaste.

I crutch it to the bathroom. “Can I brush my teeth, or is that too strenuous, too?”

She shoots me a harsh look but continues brushing.

This feels natural, Peggy and I sharing a bathroom, brushing our teeth together, bantering back and forth. If someone had told me a month ago that I would be getting domestic with Peggy Carter, I'd have said he needed his head examined.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you,” she says as she spits out toothpaste. “Not only was Howard able to get us that small movie house for the evening, he’s offered up his latest movie as a special preview. That way it won’t look suspicious if we have a small viewing party rather than a full theater.”

I finish up with the toothbrush. “You think this will work, Peggy?”

“I hope so. I just feel that if we don’t act quickly, we’ll lose our chance to surprise her.”

“You don’t think she’ll be suspicious that it’s in a movie theater?” I think back to the theater where I tried to strangle Jack. And where I hit Peggy.

“That’s why I thought it would be the perfect place,” she says. “Would she really believe we would set a trap in a place where she incited a massacre? I know Dottie. Just the irony alone should be too much for her to resist trying to get to you.”

I move into the bedroom and get into bed. She follows me, stopping to set the alarm. “Sorry, you’re still under doctor’s orders for a few more hours.”

“As long as my beautiful doctor stays with me, I’m fine with that.”

She sits on the bed, legs under her. “So. Violet.”

Where did that come from?

“I told you my idea about Masters,” she says. “I showed you mine, you show me yours.”

I grin but it fades as I see her serious expression. “Violet was Jack’s nurse initially. I asked her to be assigned to him whenever she was on. We needed someone we could trust close to him.”

She is silent for several seconds. “Knowing Violet’s skills and competency, I would have done the same thing. I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me.”

“Honestly, Peggy,” I say with a sigh, “I don’t know, either. It was awkward seeing her, and somehow she knows that you and I are together, which made it even worse. And I wasn't sure how you'd feel about me asking my ex-fiancé for help.”

“Did you think I would be jealous?”

I shake my head. “I wasn't thinking, that's the problem. I'm still feeling guilty about hurting her and lying to her.”

“You didn’t lie to her. You told her what you believed, that you loved her. I can’t, and wouldn’t, fault you for that. But if this,” she gestures between us, “is going to work, we need to be honest and not keep things from each other. Admittedly, neither one of us is very good at that.”

“No, we aren’t,” I say, emphasizing the ‘we’.

Either she doesn’t hear it or ignores it. “It’s something we have to work on. We might as well start now.”

“You’re right.” I run a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, Peggy. I should have told you.”

She leans forward and kisses my lips lightly. “You’re forgiven. Now go to sleep.” She sees my frown. “Who’s pouting now?”

Enough with the sleep talk, Peggy. I do my best to convey that by kissing her. She tastes like mint with a hint of wine. My hands go to her face as I deepen the kiss, demanding more.

She pulls away, breathless. “The doctor says none of that right now.”

“I want a second opinion,” I say, leaning in, but she moves away.

“Later.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely,” she says, stretching out next to me. It’s her familiar spot, her arm wrapped around mine.

“I love you, Peg.”

She snuggles her head against my arm. “I love you, too.”

That's all I needed to hear.

\-------------------

The most God-awful noise fills the room, jerking me awake. It sounds like a cross between a fire bell and a chicken being strangled.

Daniel stirs next to me, looking around. “What, what the hell...”

“Oh, Bloody Nora,” I say as I realize what the sound is. I reach over Daniel and slap my hand on the alarm clock. It doesn't stop. I hit it again. And again. Finally it stops its infernal screeching.

“If that thing goes off again,” Daniel says, “I'm going to shoot it.”

“Not if I do it first.” I put my forehead on his chest, waiting for my heart to stop beating double-time. His arm goes around me, rubbing my back. Then his hand snakes under my pajama top, his warm palm settling on the small of my back.

It’s amazing what his touch ignites in me. I lose control when I am with him, something I’m not used to doing. Peggy Carter is always in control. The fact that he can break through that wall I’ve spent years building up scares me and excites me at the same time.

I raise my head. His eyes tell me that he’s thinking the same thing I am.

“Am I cleared for duty, Doc?”

I nod and lean down, kissing him, hard. He meets my intensity with his own. I know he should rest but I need him. It shocks me sometimes how much I need him. I’ve spent the better part of my adult life not needing a man to make me feel complete. I don’t know that I need Daniel to make me feel complete, but I do feel I am a better version of myself, as an agent and as a woman, when I am with him.

The urge to do something unexpected overwhelms me. Something completely un-Peggy-like. Maybe it's my dormant-for-far-too-long libido talking. Maybe it’s because this handsome, kind, courageous man has stolen my heart and I want to do anything I can to make him happy. Perhaps a bit of both. The itch is there, so I'm going to scratch it.

I break the kiss. “Let me do the driving tonight. You still have a bullet wound that needs healing. Arms at your side. Those shoulders never leave the mattress.”

“But…”

“Those are the rules,” I say sternly. “Take it or leave it.”

His eyes widen. “I’ll take it.”

He gasps as I straddle him, my knees next to his hips. I stretch out over him, hands on either side of his arms. I lower my head and kiss the left side of his neck, slowly working my way around to the other side. I lick the hollow of his throat and I am treated to a deep moan.

His hands reach for me and I stop. “Ah, ah. Arms at your side.”

“No fair.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he says, more of a sigh than a word.

I resume my journey, leisurely kissing my way down the center of his chest. His skin is soft and warm under my lips. His breathing gets heavier the further I go.

“Are you trying to kill me, Peg?”

“No, I’m trying to make love to you.”

He groans in response. His abs flutter when I kiss them, then I move to just above the hairs peeking out from waistband of his pajamas. I raise myself over his leg, my mouth inches from his lower abdomen. It’s difficult not to notice how aroused he is. So am I, for that matter.

I wait until he raises his head and meets my gaze, then I lower my head and kiss the tip of him through the fabric.

“Oh shit,” he says through a breath. His head falls back on the pillow.

I pepper open-mouth kisses over the hard length of him, down and up, down and up.

“Peg, you need to stop. Now.”

I smile. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing that you coming up here won't fix.”

But I don't listen to him. Instead, I move off the bed.

“Wha…?”

I spot his suitcase and open it. Shifting around clothes, I find what I need: a small paper box.

He sees what is in my hand. “I didn't pack those.”

I give him a devilish smile. “I remembered where you had them and threw them in your bag when you weren't looking.”

“The entire box?”

I remove a condom packet from the box. “You never know.”

“Get over here,” he says, his voice like sandpaper.

Slowly I approach the bed, shedding my clothes from the waist down as I go. I climb back on the bed, straddling him. His hands go to my hair and he pulls me down, kissing me with a force that is almost too much to handle.

I pull back and yank down his pajama bottoms. He grabs the packet from my hand and rips it open. He has the condom out and on himself before I can react.

“You were taking too long,” he says, his hands at my hips.

I get the hint. I’m ready for him, more than ready. Lining myself up, I sink down on him, sighing. I don't move, just wanting to enjoy the feeling of him filling me.

He's not so patient. I feel his leg move behind me, his foot planted on the bed. He thrusts up. I answer him with a gasp and a thrust down.

His hand goes between us, but I still it. “No, this is all about you.” I lean down, my mouth as close to his ear as I can get. “Let go, Daniel.”

He pushes out my name on a moan as his hips start moving again in earnest. I meet him thrust for powerful thrust. It doesn’t take long before he tenses, stills his hips with a gasp, then finally relaxes.

“Damn,” he says, barely a whisper.

I take that to mean he enjoyed himself. I rather enjoyed myself as well. Being un-Peggy-like has its advantages.

He opens his eyes. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Keep surprising me,” he says, his hands tracing my hips.

“I don’t want you to get bored.”

He chuffs out a laugh. “Life with you, Peggy, is anything but boring.”

I lift myself off of him. “Thank you, I think.”

“You didn't get to…,” he says, suddenly shy.

“I told you, tonight was about you.”

“I owe you.”

“Yes, you do. And I shall look forward to you repaying that debt.” I lean down and kiss his lips, but he's a little slow on the uptake.

“I need to get up,” he says, his words fading at the end.

“No, you don't.” I get off the bed and go into the bathroom. Retrieving a few tissues, I take care of the condom. I put on my tossed-aside clothing and climb into bed. I run my hand along his chest. He gives a weak “hmm” in response.

Planting a kiss on his arm, I curl up next to him. Within a few minutes, his breathing evens out. As I start to drift, I think about us. With each day that goes by, we get closer. I’m getting used to us sleeping in the same bed. I’m getting used to the other things we do in the same bed. How am I going to leave this and go back to New York? Can I?


	11. Chapter 11

Daniel and I spent the morning working out the logistics of the operation, with help from Rose and Mr. Jarvis. By late morning, we had every detail planned, and it was time to set the scene. Daniel made the decision to keep the blinds open in his office for this very reason.

Just before noon, I walked into his office and showed him the fake invitation, beautiful calligraphy courtesy of Ana Jarvis. He made sure to look at the invitation near the window, giving those prying blue eyes a good view. We chatted as if I were trying to convince him to go, and he pretended to acquiesce.

Now it's time for the briefing. The closer we get to the operation happening, the more apprehensive I get. This was my idea, putting Daniel in danger to get Dottie. What was I thinking? I was so wrapped up in the elaborate details that I forgot the main one: it puts a big target on Daniel’s back.

I enter the makeshift meeting room. Daniel, the only one here so far, is placing photos of Dottie on a corkboard. The room is dark, only fluorescent light shining since this is one of the few rooms without a window.

“I just got off the phone with Mr. Jarvis,” I say. “Jack’s guys have landed and are on their way here.”

“Good. Freeman should be here any minute. Rose will bring him up.”

I take a large piece of paper, a schematic of the theater, and pin it on the corkboard. “Did you give Freeman background on the case?”

“No,” Daniel says, “he and his people think this is an operation to capture a fugitive. I didn’t tell him anything about Zero Matter or Masters.”

“He probably wouldn't believe us anyway. I barely believe it myself sometimes.”

“Speaking of Masters, I’ve been thinking.” He sits on the edge of the conference table. “We know that Zero Matter affected Whitney Frost and Jason Wilkes differently.” I nod. “Jack couldn’t remember a short period of time, and Violet said Masters’ hand was on Jack’s head. Do you think he could somehow control his mind, erase a few hours of memory?”

It’s a horrible thought, so horrible it strikes me speechless. It must reflect on my face.

“I know,” Daniel says. “I hope I’m wrong and I just have a vivid imagination.”

“So do I.”

He points to the phone, which has a black box attached to it. “Samberly was just here setting up Howard’s amplifier for the phone. I’m going to call Jack and test this out before the meeting.”

He places the receiver into indentations in the black box and dials a number. We wait a few seconds and hear a click.

“Acme Brewing Company,” Jack says, his voice tinny through the amplifier.

I smirk despite myself. “Very funny, Jack.”

“I thought so. I can hear you pretty well.”

“Good,” Daniel says. “Stay on the line. We’ll start as soon as everyone gets here.”

“Roger that.”

“He’s in here, Detective,” Rose says just before she walks into the room, Freeman right behind her.

“Thanks, Rose,” Daniel says as she leaves.

“Chief Sousa, Agent Carter.” Freeman shakes both of our hands. “I want to thank you again for allowing me in on this operation.”

“We appreciate the assistance,” Daniel says.

“Happy to help. I have seven people, including me. Four males, three females. I’ve coupled the others, so I’ll go solo.” He holds up his notebook. “This is pretty much attached to my hand, so I thought I could act as a film critic.”

“That’s a great idea,” I say.

Freeman looks around. “Nice digs.”

“OK, I give up,” Jack says. “Who is that?”

Freeman looks around the room. “What…”

“Jack, it’s Detective Freeman, LAPD,” I say.

“Gotcha.”

Freeman figures out where the voice is coming from. “You feds have all the cool toys.”

I hear laughing and footsteps approaching. Four familiar faces enter the room. It's good to see Nichols and Wallace. I could have done without seeing Arias and Squires. The latter two are Jack’s most trusted men. They're also two of the biggest arses in the office.

Nichols and Wallace approach Daniel and I, and a round of hand shaking commences. Arias and Squires sit at the table, not acknowledging our presence.

“Done well for yourself, Danny boy… er, Chief,” Wallace says.

Arias snorts. “It’s not New York, that’s for sure.”

I bite back a rude comment.

Greene and Baxter enter the room, with Rose close behind. As she closes the door, I take a seat at the table next to Freeman.

“OK, everyone, let’s get started,” Daniel says. “We will be at The Citadel.” He points to the schematic of the theater. “It’s an exclusive fifty-seat facility. This is set up as a special preview, invitation only. The marquee outside lists the theater as closed for a special event. Howard Stark will be in attendance, introducing the movie. He also asked one of his staff from his film studio to be there.”

“I thought no civilians,” Squires says.

“This is no ordinary civilian. He’s a veteran with sharp-shooter experience.”

Squires won’t let it go. “How can we trust him? Hell, how can we trust Stark, after what he did?”

“Howard Stark was cleared of all wrongdoing,” Daniel says. “He has been a trusted ally of the SSR for some time.”

Arias snorts a laugh. “Maybe with _your_ SSR.”

“Knock it off, Arias,” Jack says.

Arias and the other three New Yorkers look around the room, confused.

Biting back a smile, Daniel gestures to the black box. “I forgot to say that Chief Thompson is joining us for the briefing.”

Daniel looks to Greene. “You will be at the ticket booth, which is here,” he says, pointing to the front of the building. “We have a list of names of those attending, and you’ll be in charge of checking them off. As soon as the last person enters, you will act as an usher inside the theater itself.”

He then turns to Baxter. “You and Wallace will be inside the theater as ushers the entire time. Nichols, you will be in the projection booth with the projectionist, who is Stark’s man. You'll be our eyes and ears up top. And Squires, you will be at the concession stand until the movie starts.” He points out each location on the paper.

“There are four entrance and exit points, two at the front and two at the back. Baxter, you'll be at one of the front ones, and Wallace, one of the back. Squires and Greene, you'll be at the other two once you're done with your other duties. Any questions?”

“Yeah, what about me? I didn't fly out here to sight-see,” Arias says.

Daniel puts up a hand. “I'm getting to that. Rose will be in charge of costumes. We have dressing rooms set up downstairs. One of you will be dressing as a prominent member of the film community to lend more validity to the event.” Daniel looks at Arias. “Apparently you are the spitting image of Walt Disney, without the mustache and much less tan. Rose will do your makeup.”

Arias’ eyes widen. “I have to wear makeup?”

“Yes, you do,” Daniel says.

Snorts and laughs come from the rest of the New York contingency.

Daniel continues. “We have some film of Disney, so you’ll need to study him.” He motions to Freeman. “We are lucky enough to have backup from the LAPD. Detective, can you fill everyone in?”

“Sure,” Freeman says. “There are seven of us. Three couples and me. We’ll be in the audience, the couples acting as invited guests and me posing as a film critic, also invited.”

Nods go around the table.

“Chief,” Wallace says, “how do we know she's gonna show?”

“We don't,” Daniel says, “but we know she's had this building under surveillance. She has a target, me, and we know from past dealings with her, she’s willing to do whatever it takes to get her target.”

I cringe when he says the last part.

“What's Carter gonna be? Cigar girl?” Arias laughs at his own joke.

Daniel straightens up and gives him a ‘you’re on my last nerve’ look. I speak before he can.

“Chief Sousa and I will be posing as special guests of Howard Stark. We will be seated in the theater, close to the middle. That will keep us in view of the projection booth, as well as all four ushers.”

Daniel points to the theater layout. “So that means during the movie we have four men at exits, two men in the projection booth, and eleven people in the audience, counting Stark. All will be armed. Rifles will be hidden by the screen, behind each side of the red velvet curtain. Greene, you and Baxter will be in charge of those. Another will be taped to the underside of Freeman’s seat, which will be behind Agent Carter and I. Greene, yours will be the modified M201-Z we talked about. Any other questions?”

The room is silent. Daniel looks at the black box on the table. “Chief Thompson, anything to add?”

“Eyes and ears open, folks. If Underwood shows, she will not get away. Period. And this is Sousa’s operation. He’s in charge. Understood?”

Jack’s men mumble “Yeah” and “Yes, sir”.

“OK, everyone,” Daniel says. “Let's get this going. Head downstairs for wardrobe.”

I watch as all of the men, minus Daniel, follow Rose out the door.

“That went better than I expected,” Daniel says. “You were awfully quiet.”

“You heard Jack, this is your operation. You should be the one giving assignments.”

“Carter, did you just say I was right?”

I stare at the black box; I'd forgotten Jack was still on the line.

“Must have been a glitch in the phone,” I say.

I hear a tinny, breathy laugh. “Yeah, sure. Look, my nurse is yelling at me to get some shut-eye for a while. Make sure Rose calls me with any and all updates.”

“Will do,” Daniel says just before we hear the disconnecting click.

“Peggy, why don’t you take off, go get ready at Howard’s?”

I nod and try to fight the frown growing on my face. “I’ll see you there.”

He reaches out for my hand, then thinks better of it. “This is planned to the second. We’re more than prepared.”

He’s right. So why is there a sense of dread weaving its way into my thoughts?

\----------------

I’d forgotten how uncomfortable it is wearing a tie. Since being in California, I can count on one hand, and would have a few fingers left over, how many times I've worn one. But this is a dress-up kind of event, so I'll have to suffer through it.

I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror, assess that the shirt, tie and trousers are presentable, then walk through to Peggy’s room. It's empty.

“Peggy?”

“Here” is the response.

“Where here?”

“In the dressing area,” she says.

I walk through the bedroom, turn the corner and…

Whoa, Nelly.

Peggy’s leg is bent at the knee and her foot is resting on a chair seat. She’s attaching a stocking to her garter. A garter that has a gun holster attached to it.

I step closer to her, my eyes still on the creamy skin of her thigh. “Need any help?”

“No,” she says with a sly smile, “but I might need help taking these off later.”

“I'm your man.”

“Yes, you are, Daniel.” Her voice is sweet as honey.

Finally, I tear my gaze away from her leg, which is now off the chair. She's clad only in a black brassiere, matching silk panties, and, of course, the garter and stockings. Even with the curlers in her hair, she is the sexiest and most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

I can't help myself. I reach for her, my hand snaking around her neck, and I kiss her. Not a tender ‘I love you’ kiss. More like a ‘I want to bury myself inside you and never leave’ kiss.

You’ve got it bad, Danny boy. Real bad.

She breaks the kiss, breathing heavily. “Ana will be back any minute with my dress. We don't want to give her a show.”

“Right.” Reluctantly, I step away from her. “I, uh, came in here to tell you that Jarvis just got back from dropping Howard off at the theater. He’s briefing his guy and getting Greene and Squires set up at the ticket booth and concession stand. So far, no sign of Dottie.”

She slips on a red silk robe. “Of course not. You're not there.” Her expression conveys her concern.

“It will be fine, Peggy,” I say, taking her hand. “I'll be in a room full of armed people, including you. Not sure how I could be any safer.”

Ana Jarvis walks around the corner. “Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt.” She's holding a black dress.

“I’m the one interrupting,” I say. “Peggy, I’ll meet you in the sitting room.”

Peggy nods. “I won't be long.”

I walk back through her room, giving myself another once-over in the bathroom mirror. Once inside my room -- when did this become “my room”? -- I grab my jacket and get the new Underwood file. Since the main file is still in her possession, we have to start over.

In the sitting room, I sink in the nearest chair and start writing. I am documenting everything, dotting every ‘i’ and crossing every ‘t’. If we get her tonight, she’s never getting free again. I'll fight against any deal, including deportation. Dottie Underwood is dangerous no matter what country she’s in. 

I get so focused on the report, I miss the fact that someone is now in the room with me.

I look up and try unsuccessfully to keep my jaw from dropping. Peggy is absolutely stunning. The black dress is short-sleeved and off the shoulder, scalloped lace kissing the edges of her shoulders and collarbone. The dress hugs every delicious curve of her body as it goes down, nipping in at the waist and out at the hips. It ends just below her knees, modest but enticing. Her black short heels are open at the toe.

“Wow,” I say once I find my voice. I get up from the chair and walk to her.

She smiles that beautiful Peggy smile. “You like?”

“I love. And the dress is nice, too.”

“You don't look so bad yourself,” she says, straightening my tie, which I know is straight already. I'd like to think it's just an excuse to touch me. I use the same excuse, putting my arms around her. This time, I give her the ‘I love you’ kiss, soft and unhurried.

I hear a throat being cleared. We break the kiss to find Jarvis standing there, his expression either embarrassed or amused. Probably both.

“I believe it is time to leave for the theater,” he says.

I motion to Peggy to go first. I watch as she walks out of the room, hips swaying under the black fabric.

This is going to be a long night, whether or not Underwood shows.


	12. Chapter 12

As Mr. Jarvis pulls up to the theater, I see an honest-to-goodness red carpet. Howard is going all out for this ruse. Two people stand at the ticket booth, presumably part of Freeman’s group. They are dressed to the nines, as they say.

Mr. Jarvis turns around to us. “I will be out here for the duration. Mr. Stark gave me a walkie-talkie and he is wearing an earpiece, so we will be able to communicate. If I see anything or anyone from here, I will inform him.”

He hops out of the driver’s seat and briskly walks around to the other side. He opens the door and helps me out. Daniel follows close behind.

Daniel and I walk to the ticket booth and see Greene in the most ridiculous costume. I haven’t been to the cinema in years and forgot the uniforms. He looks like the human version of an organ grinder’s monkey.

Daniel speaks through the window. “Daniel Sousa and Peggy Carter.”

Greene pretends to look through the list. “Ah, yes, Mr. Sousa. You and Miss Carter are here. Please enter on the left.”

“Thank you,” Daniel says.

Daniel opens the door for me and I step through to see a few people milling about. Only two I recognize: Howard Stark and Walt Disney. Rose worked her magic; you cannot tell that Arias is in makeup. He looks like the real Disney.

“Ah, Peg, you’re here,” Howard says. “I want you to meet Walt. Walt Disney, this is Peggy Carter, a dear friend of mine. And Daniel Sousa, her date.”

If Daniel is offended by being referred to as “her date,” he doesn’t show it.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Carter, Mr. Sousa.” He shakes our hands, lingering on mine a bit too long. He points to Daniel’s leg. “Mr. Sousa, did you get that in the war?”

“Yes, sir, I did,” Daniel says, playing along.

“Well, thank you for your service, young man. I’m always happy to see one of our soldiers home, especially with a lovely young lady on his arm.”

Arias is hamming it up to excess, but I have to admit, it’s working. I saw the film of Disney and the voice is close, the mannerisms spot-on. I think Arias secretly wants to be an actor.

“Peg, Daniel, feel free to get something to drink,” Howard says. “I have a few more people to introduce to Walt, then we’ll start the movie.”

Daniel and I move to the concession stand, manned by Squires. Lined up on the counter are bottles of Coca-Cola and red-and-white striped boxes of popcorn.

“Sir, madam,” Squires says, “please help yourself to refreshments.” I know it pains him to be serving us, and I’m enjoying every minute of it.

I take a bottle and a popcorn, and Daniel takes a bottle. As we walk through the theater entrance, Baxter gives us a nod. “Please have a seat wherever you like.”

Apparently we have an office full of actors, as everyone is getting into their roles. Hollywood must be rubbing off on them.

In the dimly lit theater, we find our pre-arranged seats, just off the middle, a few seats in from the aisle. Half a dozen moviegoers are already seated in front of us, and Freeman is several rows behind us, his pen moving at top speed on a notebook.

The seats are plush with high seat backs but no arm rests. Daniel and I sink into the velvet cushions, and I start on the popcorn.

“I guess we can call this our first real date,” Daniel says.

I smile. “We did things a bit out of order, didn’t we?”

“Since when do we follow the rules?”

I toast him with my soda and take a sip. Out of the corner of my eye, I see several people filing in and taking seats in front of us. Following them up are Howard and Walt/Arias. Howard gives us a nod as he passes. Arias takes a seat several rows in front of us, while Howard walks to the screen.

“I want to thank everyone for coming this evening,” Howard says. “You are the first people outside of Stark Studios to see this film. I’m very proud of it, and I hope you enjoy.”

The theater goes dark, and the screen flickers with what look like little white hairs. Dramatic music is pumped into the room, violins and horns telling us the adventure is about to begin.

A sharp pain hits my neck. What the bloody hell? Was that a bug?

Daniel notices my discomfort and leans in. “What?”

“I think one of those blasted mosquitos you have out here got me.”

As the screen fills with the Stark Studios logo, Daniel takes my hand in his. Looking down at our entwined fingers, I lean toward him, my lips next to his ear, resisting the urge to nip at that ear.

“Professionalism, Chief Sousa.”

He smiles and turns to me. “Establishing the cover, Agent Carter.”

Who am I to argue? It is a shame this is not a real date. Sometimes I wonder what our lives would be like if we weren’t with the SSR. If we weren’t constantly being shot at or impaled. A life free of mortal enemies.

My chest starts to tighten. I am that nervous about this operation? Daniel is right; this is planned better than any operation I've been a part of so far. I take a deep breath and let it out.

The movie is a Western, not my cup of tea but as expected from Howard, it is well-acted and well-produced. Lance Thornton is quite dashing as the hero, and Alicia McBurns is strong as the love interest/adversary.

These seats seemed nice at first but I’m getting increasingly uncomfortable. Daniel notices.

“You OK?”

“Yes. Just a little fidgety.”

He smiles. “Peggy Carter can’t sit still. I’m utterly shocked.”

I laugh but it quickly turns into a cough. Daniel glances at me, concerned, but I wave it off. Probably just a bit of popcorn going down the wrong way. Once the coughing fit is done, I'm out of breath.

Why am I having such a hard time breathing? I’m not allergic to anything that I know of. Maybe it’s the mosquito bite? Or the Coca-Cola? The theater is spinning, really spinning, out of control. What is happening?

“Daniel…”

\-------------------

Peggy’s head flops on my shoulder.

“What happened to professionalism, Agent Carter?”

I shrug my shoulder against her head but she doesn't move. Wait. Her hand, still in mind, has gone slack.

“Peggy,” I say, panic rising in my throat.

I lift her head but it goes right back to my shoulder, lifeless. I start to get out of the chair but something wraps around my neck. Something sharp. A wire?

“Sorry to ruin your date, Chief, but you have some information I need.”

It’s Underwood. I turn my head as much as I can and just make out an eye peeking between my seat back and the one next to it. My hands go up to my neck but she tightens her grip.

“Tell me which formula you changed, and I’ll give you the antidote for Peggy.”

I can barely get my voice out. “What did you do to her?”

“Just gave her a little something to knock her out. It may do more than that if you keep stalling.”

“Don’t remember which one,” I say, rasping out what words I can. “It’s the truth.”

“You’d better try to remember. Peggy will be wheezing in a few minutes. Soon after, her organs will start to shut down.”

“Drop the garrote. Now.” A male voice. I hear the cock of a rifle.

The wire relaxes around my neck. I hear a crack of bone and shuffling. When I turn around, Freeman and Underwood are wrestling for the rifle.

“Lights on! Lights on!” I realize I'm the one who screamed it.

The theater is bathed in dim light. Guns are drawn by everyone, including me, all pointing at Underwood and Freeman. Ushers from all exits come rushing toward us. The scene would be comical if Peggy’s breathing was so labored. I stay where I am, shielding her with my free arm.

Freeman finally pulls the rifle from Underwood’s hands and points it at her, taking several steps back. She looks for an exit and moves into the aisle.

Greene takes a stance with the modified grenade launcher and fires. A net ejects from the barrel and covers Underwood.

She looks at the net, then to me. “This again?”

Greene looks at me and I nod.

“You couldn’t come up with anything more origi--"

Her word cuts off and she starts shaking when Greene presses the button, sending an electrical shock through her body. She drops to the ground in an unconscious heap. Greene, Wallace and Squires surround her prone body.

Holstering my gun, I turn my attention back to Peggy. “I need help here!”

I stand and lift her out of the seat, then hobble the few steps to the aisle. Freeman, whose nose is bloody and probably broken, steps forward.

“I’ve got her,” he says, taking Peggy from my arms as Howard rushes up.

Freeman steps into the aisle and gently lays Peggy on the carpet. I kneel on my good knee.

Howard follows suit. “What happened?”

“She complained of a mosquito biting her neck right after the movie started. She was fine for a while but then passed out. Underwood said she had an antidote.” I turn to the men standing around Underwood. “Search her!”

People start gathering around us. My annoyance grows until I can't stand it. “Back off! Give us some room!”

I'm out of control and I can't stop it. I just got her. I can't lose her now.

“Nothing on Underwood, Chief,” Baxter says. “Not even a hair pin.”

“Shit!”

Howard is moving Peggy’s head from side to side, then he lifts her head up from the carpet. At the base of her skull, embedded in her skin, is a silver dot, no bigger than a pea. I reach for it.

Stark stills my hand. “Don't touch it!” He looks at it from several angles before gingerly pulling it out of Peggy’s skin. The silver part was the top; now we see the bottom, which looks like a tiny syringe. Howard unscrews the top, dips a finger in and tastes. He smacks his lips a few times. “I think it's hemlock.”

“As in Socrates hemlock?” I think it is Freeman who said it. I'm barely aware of who’s around me anymore.

“Doubtful,” Stark says. “This tastes different than normal hemlock.”

I glance at Stark, unbelieving. “How do you know this?”

“Research for a movie,” he says. “Never ended up using it, until now. The Russians were working on genetically modifying hemlock during the war. It attacks the respiratory system first instead of last. That may be what this is.”

Peggy’s breathing is shallow, as if every breath is an ordeal.

“You have to do something,” I say to Stark. A plea, not a statement.

He’s silent for several seconds, then his face lights up. “It works for hemlock, hopefully it will work for this.”

Howard presses a finger to his ear. “Jarvis, you there?” He pauses, then, “You need to go to Frank’s Apothecary and get me tannic acid and a syringe. Got that? Tannic acid.” More silence. “I don’t care if it’s past closing time, get it! Peggy’s life depends on it!”

Howard lifts her head again and examines where the syringe was. I take her hand, my thumb absently brushing over her skin, back and forth.

“Chief.”

Come on, Peggy. Hang on. You’re going to be fine. If you can survive being impaled on rebar, you can survive this. You have to.

“Chief!”

I look up and realize Baxter is talking to me. “What do you want us to do with Underwood?”

Get it together, Sousa. I take a deep breath, let it out.

“Get her back to the office. I want four of you to go. She should be out for an hour or so but it could be less. Put her in one of the interrogation rooms and handcuff her to the table. Then two of you are posted outside the room, not inside.”

Arias chimes in. “You want us to start on her?”

“No. She’ll only talk to Peggy. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” I look down to Peggy, my hand tightening over hers.

“What if Carter doesn’t…”

“She’ll be fine,” I say, more a growl than anything. “We will be there as soon as we can. Do not interrogate. That’s an order.”

I don’t even notice them leaving because my attention is back on Peggy, who has started wheezing.

“Where the hell is Jarvis?” I’m shouting for no reason.

“The apothecary is a few blocks away,” Stark says. “He should be here any minute.”

He’s lying but I want more than anything to believe the lie.

The next eight minutes are excruciating. I know it was eight minutes because I counted. A thousand one, a thousand two, a thousand three… all the way to sixty and over again. Counting kept me from thinking about how shallow and erratic her breathing was becoming. It kept me from thinking about what comes next.

I saw this more times than I want to admit on the battlefield. A guy hit, breathing getting shallower and more uneven. A big breath in every minute or so. Then the death rattle, the sickening sound of fluid building up in the airway. Then suffocation.

As much as I try to ignore it, I hear the big breath from her at minutes five, six and a little after seven. Thirteen seconds after seven, to be exact. I wait for the next one but I hear a commotion at the theater entrance. Glancing up, I see Nichols at the door, detaining Jarvis.

“Let him in, Nichols!”

Jarvis sprints into the theater and shoves a vial and syringe into Stark’s hands. Stark deftly draws fluid out of the vial with the syringe, filling it halfway. He pushes some out, then sticks the needle into a vein in the crook of Peggy’s elbow. He gives her half of what was in the syringe.

“I’m starting out slow,” he says. “Don’t want to give her too much.”

The wait is agonizing. Within five minutes and forty-two seconds, which seems like an eternity, her breathing begins to even out. I start counting again but it doesn’t take long before her head moves.

My hand goes to her cheek. “Peggy?”

Her eyes flutter open. “Daniel?” Her voice is weak.

I caress her face. “I’m here.”

“What happened?”

I don’t want to go into everything now, but I’ll give her the good news. “We got her.”

A feeble smile crosses her lips. “Good.” She tries to sit up but I stop her.

“Lay here for a few minutes, Peggy.”

“Actually,” Stark says, “it might be better for her to get up.”

I nod and help her to a sitting position. She leans against me for a few minutes, then straightens up.

“I'm good,” she says, contradicting the pain in her face.

Howard and Jarvis help her stand. She wavers but they stabilize her. Using my crutch for support, I stand. Jarvis takes one side, and I take the other and very slowly, we help Peggy out of the theater. Howard follows behind us.

Out in the brighter lobby light, Peggy looks achingly pale. Her eyes are hooded, and she’s biting her lower lip. She'll never admit how much pain she is in.

Howard stops at the concession stand, picks up a popcorn box and tosses the contents on the floor. He hands Jarvis the box.

“You’re going to need this,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow in question. As if on cue, Peggy’s face scrunches, then she grabs the container from Jarvis and throws up into it.

“It’s OK,” Stark says. “She needs to do that to get it out of her system faster. That's why I said to get her up. Didn't want her to asphyxiate.” He takes a stack of empty boxes and hands them to me. “For the drive. Jarvis, take them home, then come back for me.”

Peggy shakes her head weakly. “I need to interrogate Dottie.”

“The hell you do, Peg,” Stark says before I can. “You almost died in there. Take it easy for a while.”

“We don’t have a while,” she says.

I’m shutting this down right now. “We do have a while. She’s not going anywhere until you talk to her. You’re going home. That’s an order.”

She frowns but I can tell she doesn’t have the fight in her.

We walk out of the building and to the car in silence. Jarvis helps me get her into the back seat. I settle in, my arm around her, and she lays her head on my bad shoulder. I don’t even flinch.

“Guess we didn't plan for this,” she says faintly.

No, we didn't, and I’m regretting it beyond words.


	13. Chapter 13

I’m very proud of myself. I only threw up once in the car, though the urge to do so was constant. I was even able to get out of the car by myself and hide the dizziness from Daniel and Mr. Jarvis. I'm just fine. 

Or not. Standing at the front door, my stomach heaves like a stormy ocean. Mr. Jarvis opens the door and I make a shaky dash for my suite. I stumble into the bathroom and make it to the toilet in time to lose whatever is still in my stomach, which should be nothing by now.

Daniel is right next to me, his hands holding back my hair, just as he had in the car. Isn't that a sign of true love, holding your sweetheart’s hair as she chunders in the loo?

When my stomach finally stills, I flush the toilet, then stand. Perhaps a bit too quickly, though. Daniel steadies me and walks me to the sink. I rinse my mouth several times.

“I am so sorry,” I say, leaning over the sink.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” His hand moves up and down my back, the rhythm calming me.

I forego the toothbrush and just squirt toothpaste in my mouth.

“That's one way to do it,” he says with a laugh. He leaves me in the bathroom, and in the mirror, I watch him pick up my pajamas from the settee and place them in the bed.

I move the toothpaste around with my tongue, trying to reach every inch of my mouth. Anything to get this vile taste out. After I rinse my mouth, I lean against the counter and close my eyes. I went from feeling better to feeling weak again in a matter of minutes.

His arm slips around me, and he leads me into the bedroom.

“Let's get you out of this,” he says, unzipping the dress. I let it fall to the floor. Next I step out of the slip, then sit heavily on the bed to work on the stockings.

Daniel’s hands still mine. “You said I could help remove these, remember?”

I smile as he kneels on one knee between my legs and runs a hand up my thigh to the garter. He removes the gun from its holster and places it on the side table, then unhooks a stocking from the garter. His fingers continuously graze my skin as he slowly rolls the stocking off my leg. He works the second one in the same fashion. His touch is soft, caring, not demanding. Yet everywhere he touches my skin, he leaves a trail of fire.

“If I didn't feel so bloody awful,” I say, “I would pounce on you.”

“Like you did in my office?”

I give him a mock appalled look. “That was not a pounce.”

“It was a pounce.” His hands go to the garter. He tries to shimmy the garter down but it goes nowhere. 

“It unhooks in the back.” His hands go around me and free the garter. “And it was not a pounce. It might have been a small leap, but it most certainly was not a pounce.”

His hand lightly brushes where the rebar hit. It's healing but it will always be a deep cleft of puckered flesh.

“Another scar, another sign of survival,” I say.

Daniel’s hand moves to my face. I close my eyes and lean into his touch. His palm cups my the side of my neck, thumb grazing over my cheek.

“You almost didn't survive this one tonight, Peg,” he says, voice thick with emotion.

I open my eyes and see the pain in his.

“I listened to every breath, each one harder for you to take than the one before. I was literally hearing you die. I never want to hear that again.”

“Daniel.”

He uses the bed to stand, then sits next to me and takes me in his arms. He places feather-soft kisses in my hair. I snuggle closer to him but it's not close enough. It's never close enough.

“How about if we just stay here, like this, for the rest of the evening,” I say.

“I love that idea,” he says, pulling away, “but I can't. I need to go to the office, get the paperwork started.”

“I know,” I say against his shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll ask Ana to sit with you,” he says, his arms no longer around me. “But first, let's get some clothes on you. You're shivering.”

I hadn't noticed but now that he says it, I'm freezing. I reach back and unhook my brassiere, and Daniel removes it. He has the pajama top ready and slips it over my head. The silk is cool to the touch, and a shiver runs down my spine.

I stand, shakily, and allow him to help me into the pajama pants. He pulls back the sheets and bedspread, and I climb in, settling on my back.

“I'll be in the office soon,” I say.

“Not too soon. Tomorrow morning is fine. Call me when you're ready and I'll come get you.” His hand goes to my hair, brushing imaginary strands from my face. He has a thing for my hair, always touching it, twining it in his fingers. I love that he has a thing for my hair. I love that he has a thing for me.

“Thank you,” I say, for nothing in particular, and for everything.

“I love you, Peggy.”

Tears well in my eyes. He's said this before. I don't know why I'm so emotional right now. I'd like to blame it on not feeling well but I know that's not the whole of it.

“I love you, too, Daniel. So much.”

He leans down and kisses me, a soft, light and far-too-brief kiss. “Get some rest.”

I hesitate, guilty about feeling so vulnerable. “Will you stay until I fall asleep?”

“Absolutely.” His hand goes to my hair again, and he sits on the edge of the bed.

I close my eyes and concentrate on his touch. It takes me almost dying to remind myself how lucky I am to have him. How much he means to me. How much I never want to experience with him what he experienced tonight with me.

_I was literally hearing you die. I never want to hear that again._

I never want you to have to hear that again, Daniel.

I’ve finally made a decision. Now I just have to figure out how to convince him it’s the right one.

\--------------

I hear the click of heels on the bullpen floor, then, “Hey, Carter, you're not dead.”

I swear to God, I'm going to pummel Arias.

“An astute observation, Agent Arias,” she says. “You're investigative skills are unparalleled.”

I want to applaud but instead, I get up from my desk and walk to the door. A glance at the clock in the bullpen tells me it’s after two a.m. What is she doing here so soon?

She stops at the office doorway. “Reporting for duty, Chief.”

She's dressed in a dark green pantsuit, her hair and makeup as perfect as ever. But her eyes tell me she needs to be home in bed, not here.

“You didn't have to come in so early, Peggy.”

“I know. I wanted to get it over with. The sooner we have confirmation about Masters, the sooner we can start looking for him.”

I put a hand on her arm. “Are you sure you're up for this?”

“Very sure,” she says.

I look around as we walk through the bullpen. “Where's Jarvis? Or did he drop you off?”

“Not exactly,” she says, guilt creeping into her voice.

I stop in my tracks. “You drove yourself here? Peggy, are you crazy?”

“Apparently,” she says. “I feel fine. Really.”

“No nausea?”

“Not right now.”

We walk in silence to the viewing room and step inside the dark cave of a space. 

“I set up the amplifier in here,” I say. “I’ll get Jack on the line, then you can go in.”

I dial the familiar hospital room number. Despite it being the middle of the night, he answers on the first ring.

“Yeah,” Jack says, his voice as tired as I feel.

“Peggy’s here. We're about to start.”

“What's the plan, Marge?”

Peggy’s lips curl into a smile. “To get Dottie not to talk.” She leaves the room before Jack or I can respond.

This is going to be very interesting.

Word must have gotten around about Peggy being here, because the viewing room starts to fill: Baxter, Arias, Wallace and Squires file in. Greene and Nichols drew the short straws and have guard duty.

Peggy enters the interrogation room, confidence beaming from her even though I know she's not even close to being her best. 

Underwood’s face lights up. “Hi, Peg.”

Peggy sits in the only other chair in the room, opposite her prey. That's exactly how it is when she's interrogating: predator and prey. The guys behind me could learn a thing or two from her. I know I have.

The two stare at each other across the table, Peggy not uttering a word.

Underwood smiles. “Look, I'm sorry about earlier. It was just business. You know how it is.”

Peggy continues staring at her.

“Ah, the silent treatment. What page is that on in the interrogation manual?”

Peggy sits back, still staring, still quiet.

“I know what it is. You're still mad because I shot your boyfriend.”

I hear an “I knew it!” behind me, some whispering, then a “holy cow!”. I refuse to turn around. Next is a round of quiet whooping and applause. 

Neanderthals.

“Way to go, Danny boy!” That was Wallace.

“You finally broke the ice queen.” Squires.

“She must have really lowered her standards.” Asshole Arias.

“Gentlemen,” Jack says, “this is an interrogation, not a locker room. Keep it down.”

I’m doing my best to ignore all of them.

“If you're not going to talk to me,” Underwood says, “then how about a game of charades? I'm really good at it.”

Peggy lets out a dramatic sigh. “I don't need to talk to you, Dottie. I already have all the answers I need. I'm just in here because I'm following my supervisor’s orders.”

“Would that be the supervisor in the hospital bed or the one in _your_ bed?”

I have to hand it to Peggy; her expression didn't change one iota. I hear rumblings behind me, then “Sousa, you're my hero” from Squires and laughter from the others.

“Alright, I'll play along. What are all of the answers you have?” Underwood lifts her unshackled arm and puts her elbow on the table, then rests her chin in her hand. All the while, that smirk is still plastered on her lips.

Peggy puts her arms, crossed, on the table. She's playing the bored agent well. 

“I know that Vernon Masters is not dead.”

No reaction from Underwood.

“I know that he is infected with Zero Matter.”

No reaction.

“I know that you are working with him, and he sent you to steal those plans from the Council of Nine.”

The smirk doesn't move.

“I know that he is planning to build another rift generator so that he can harness Zero Matter for his own nefarious deeds.”

“Ooh, nefarious,” Underwood says, the smirk now a full-blown smile. “I love that word.”

Peggy purses her lips. “There is one thing I'm not sure about.”

“Do tell.” Underwood is really getting off on this.

“I'm not sure why you are doing this. Is it money?” She pauses. “No, you can get that anytime. Maybe it's power. Being connected to someone with that much power is seductive, isn't it?” She pauses again, tapping her finger on the table. “No, you've never played well with others, so you wouldn't want to share.”

Underwood is still smiling, thoroughly enjoying herself.

“Ah, I've got it,” Peggy says, excited. “You want Zero Matter. You want to be immortal. That would be the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to everyone who has ever wronged you.” She pauses, her enthusiasm waning. “No, that can't be it. You're smart enough to realize that Masters is not going to give you Zero Matter. He's going to double cross you, just as you would him, first chance he gets. You'll be dead before you get anywhere near his treasure. You're simply a means to an end.”

There's a twitch in the smile. The chink in Underwood's armor.

“You seem pretty sure of yourself, Peggy.”

“Oh, I am,” she says with a flourish of her hand. “I know Vernon Masters. There's an old saying: ‘If you get in bed with a snake, expect to be bitten.’ Be careful who you get in bed with, Dottie.”

Underwood’s face scrunched in disgust. “That mental image constitutes cruel and unusual punishment. Where’s my lawyer?”

Peggy is giving her the silent treatment again.

“Well, if you have all the answers, why am I here?”

Peggy laughs. “Attempted murder of three federal agents to start.”

“I told you, I didn't shoot Thompson.”

“Fine. Attempted murder of two federal agents. Accessory to attempted murder of a third federal agent.” Peggy leans forward. “Add that to the myriad other charges pending against you, and it’s bye, bye, Dottie. You and your Zero Matter sugar daddy will be no more.”

Underwood smirks again. “Peggy, I like the new you. You're sassier. My compliments to the chief.” She looks at the one-way mirror, knowing I'm behind it.

“You know, you did all of this for nothing, Dottie. Chief Sousa doesn't know which formula he changed.”

“So he says.” Underwood is still looking at the mirror.

“It's true. He doesn't know, but I know how to find out.”

What the hell are you doing, Peg?

Underwood is looking at her now, smirk still in place but not as enthusiastic.

“I have the original plans,” Peggy says. “The ones that worked, unlike that mess in the barn. Too bad you'll never see those plans.”

Underwood smiles. “Naughty girl. You're such a tease.”

I hear rustling behind me, then, “Anyone else turned on by this?” from Arias.

In the interrogation room is another silent stalemate, the two women staring at each other, both smirking this time.

Peggy finally breaks the silence. “I don't suppose you will tell us where Vernon Masters is.”

Underwood’s smirk stays put.

“I didn’t think so.” Abruptly, Peggy gets up from the chair and turns to the one-way mirror. “I told you this was a waste of time.” She moves to the door.

“Leaving so soon, Peggy? I was just about to tell you about the redacted file.”

Her hand stills on the doorknob.

“I read it,” Underwood says, smirk growing into a smile. “Very interesting. This M. Carter is pretty evil, killing all of those innocent lives. Someone after my own heart.”

Peggy does not turn to face her. “That file is a ruse.”

“Looked pretty official to me. Looked like some serious war crimes were committed. Someone needs to pay for those crimes.”

“That file has nothing to do with me,” Peggy says flatly.

“I didn’t say it did, Peg. I just said M. Carter.”

Oh no.

Peggy tenses, ever so slightly. I may be the only one who caught it, but it was there. She takes a deep breath, lets it out and exits the room.

Damn you, Underwood.


	14. Chapter 14

Ten minutes go by and Peggy hasn’t come into the viewing room. The novelty wore off and the four-member peanut gallery left, probably heading home. Jack is still on the line.

“I knew I should have sent her home,” I say. “She was in no shape to do this.”

“Sousa, when are you going to realize you can’t tell Peggy Carter what to do?”

He has a point.

“You got that paperwork done yet? We’re taking Underwood back to New York tomorrow.”

“I’m having Rose type up the file in duplicate,” I say. “We’re not having just one copy again.”

“Bring it to me tomorrow. I’ll take a look at it on the plane.”

On the plane… “What?”

“I’m heading out with them and Underwood tomorrow.”

“They’re releasing you from the hospital so soon?”

Jack hesitates. “Pretty much.”

“You’re going against doctor’s orders, aren’t you?”

“I’ll recover in New York just as fine as I would here,” he says evasively.

“Is that wise?”

“That’s what Vi asked me.”

Vi? When did Nurse Violet become Vi?

“Anyway,” Jack says, “I'm checking out of Chez Hospital. Hopefully no one will try to shoot me. Don't forget the report.” I hear the disconnecting click.

I leave the viewing room in search of Peggy. I search the bullpen, my office, the hallway, the file room, downstairs. No luck. There’s one place left: the women’s locker room. Rose had insisted on it being installed for her. It’s not much bigger than a closet but it made her happy.

I knock on the door.

“Peggy?”

No answer. 

I enter the room and hear the faucet running. Turning the corner, I see her leaning over the sink. My hand immediately goes to her back as soon as I reach her.

“You OK?”

“Fine,” she says, shutting off the faucet. She seems distant. I think… no, I _know_ why.

“She was trying to get in your head.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you letting her?”

She moves into the locker area, which consists of just two lockers and a small bench. I follow.

“When Michael died, we never got a definitive answer as to what happened. His body was burned beyond recognition. We were told it was ‘a mission gone wrong’.”

“It happens.” I motion to my leg. “Case in point.”

She gives me a sad smile. “After we got word about Michael, I approached a few of his friends, even one that was in his unit. They didn’t want to talk to me, and they certainly didn’t want to talk about Michael. I attributed it to them feeling guilty for not being there to save him.” She bites her bottom lip. “Now I’m not so sure.”

“Do you really think Michael was a mass murderer?”

“No,” she says, pained. “But I think he is being framed, and I think his friends may have known about it.”

“That file is fake, Peggy.”

“Is it? Do we know that for sure?”

I don't have an answer for her. Even if it is fake, the fact that it's part of the record is enough for the wrong people to take notice.

“I’m going back to New York,” she says, rising from the bench. 

Whoa. “When?”

“I left a note for Rose to book me a flight tomorrow. Sorry, today.”

What the hell? “OK. How long will you be gone?”

“Permanently.”

Now I'm up from the bench. “What? Why?”

She turns to one of the lockers and removes the meager contents: a lipstick, a light coat and a briefcase.

“I need to clear Michael’s name.”

“And you can only do that in New York?”

“It's a good starting place,” she says, not looking me in the eye.

She's not telling me the whole story. What are you holding back, Peggy?

I put my hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face me. “Don’t push me away. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

She finally meets my gaze. “I don’t want to get rid of you. Whatever is going on, whoever is trying to ruin Michael’s reputation, it's higher up than Vernon Masters. Much higher, I fear. And I need to know why. This is my fight.”

“I know, but you don't have to fight it alone.”

She moves away from me, out of reach. “It doesn't concern you, Daniel.”

“If it concerns you, it concerns me. That's kind of how this” -- I gesture between us -- “works.”

“Then maybe we need to re-evaluate this.” She uses the same gesture.

She would have been better off slapping my face. The sting feels the same, but the physical one would fade in time.

“So the past few days have been… what? A lie? A game?” The words are hateful but I can’t stop from spewing them. “I’m just a good-time Charlie to you, a guy to kill time and have a few shags with, as you would say?”

Shock colors her voice. “Daniel, you know that’s not true! I was talking about our working relationship.”

She has me so angry, I can't think straight. I want to pace but there's not enough room in this glorified janitor closet. 

I run a shaky hand through my hair. “I'm sorry. I thought you meant…”

“I know what you thought,” she says, snapping the words out. “I can't believe you would think that of me.”

“I didn't. I don't. I'm just angry.”

She lets out a sigh. “I need to do this, Daniel. I need to go to New York.”

I must be denser than I think, because I can't figure out why going back to New York is suddenly so important. And why going back permanently is necessary. Why is she doing this? What the hell is she thinking?

Then it hits me.

I lean against one of the lockers. “OK, Peggy, if investigating Michael’s involvement, or noninvolvement, is the only reason you’re going back to New York permanently, I will respect that. That is the only reason, right?”

She doesn’t answer, and there must be something interesting on the floor because she can’t tear her gaze away from it.

“This decision has nothing to do with what you did in that interrogation room, telling Underwood that I didn’t know the formula but you could find out because you have the original plans. She gets word out to Masters or whoever. You go out to New York, they follow you, and I’m here in LA, safe and sound.”

She looks up at me and her expression betrays her thoughts.

“Peggy, I’m an SSR agent. Being in the line of fire is part of the job.”

She purses her lips. “Tell me, Daniel, how many times were you attacked, shot at or beaten in California before I got here?”

I don’t answer.

“That would be zero,” she says. “And how many times have you been attacked, shot at or beaten since I got here?” She doesn’t give me enough time to answer, not that I would. “Exactly. You were in those situations because of me.”

“I followed you down the rabbit hole willingly, Peggy. No one forced me.”

“But you went there because your emotions got the better of you,” she says, her voice slowly rising in volume. “You can’t be objective when it comes to me.”

“And you can’t be objective when it comes to me.”

She nods. “That’s why I should leave. We’re a danger to each other in the field.”

I don't want her to be right, but thinking back to last night...

“Peggy, it’s only been a few days since you pounced, or small-leaped, on me.” I got a twitch of a smile from her. “This is still so new. We haven’t given ourselves the chance to talk, to set boundaries.”

“We can set all the boundaries we want, but we won't stay in them. You know it and I know it.”

“We’ll have to,” I say, “if we want to continue working together. We’re the best damn team the SSR has ever seen. There’s nothing the two of us can’t do together.”

“It may not be enough.”

“But how will we know unless we try?”

She lets out a frustrated sigh. “We have tried, Daniel. Even before we were together, people figured out our weakness: each other. Now it's even more pronounced.” She pauses. “I overheard Greene and Nichols talking earlier. You weren't Chief Sousa last night. You were Daniel, trying to save his girl.”

Now it's my turn to sigh. “I overreacted, I admit it, but I can't just turn off caring about you.”

“And I can't turn off caring about you, either. That's why this is the best decision. For both of us.”

“I don't agree,” I say, doing my best to keep my anger in check. “I think you’re making a mistake.”

“You can’t stop me from leaving.”

“You’re right, I can’t, but if you are doing this just to protect me, maybe we do need to re-evaluate our relationship. The personal one.”

“You don’t mean that,” she says, her voice pained.

I don’t answer her.

“Daniel, I don’t want you to have to go through what you went through last night again.”

“But hearing about something happening to you when I’m three thousand miles away is so much better,” I say sharply.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “There’s no need to be flippant.”

“Actually, I think there is a need to be flippant. Listen to what you are saying, Peggy. You are making a decision that affects both of us, only I don't get a say in it.”

“It's my life,” she says, defiance in her eyes.

“And I'm part of that life. A big part, I hope.”

Her expression softens. “You know you are.”

“I thought I was but now I'm not so sure.”

“Daniel, I love you, more than I thought possible. That's why I'm doing this. If something were to happen to you…”

I can see the tears in her eyes but she does not allow them to fall.

“I don't know that I could cope if you were badly hurt... or worse… because of me. I'm willing to put distance between us to keep that from happening.”

“You think they won’t try something if we’re thousands of miles apart? Distance isn't the answer, Peggy.”

“Then what is?”

“I don't know, but I guarantee we can find the answer together.”

I close the distance between us. My hand goes to her chin, forcing her to look at me. “You don't really want to leave, do you, Peg?”

“No,” she says, her voice wavering.

“Then don't. At least until we can talk.”

She hesitates. “I may not change my mind.”

“And I'll respect your final decision. But please wait until we can talk about this. About us.”

She nods, and I open my arms to her. She wraps her arms around me, letting out a shaky breath. I let out a sigh of relief.

“There’s going to be a learning curve for both of us on this relationship-slash-work stuff,” I say, “and it may be painful at times, but we’ll handle it together.”

She nods against me. We hold on to each other for several minutes, exactly how many minutes I'm not sure. I'm too focused on the woman in my arms to count.

“I’ll give Jarvis a call for him to come get you.”

“No,” she says, looking up at me, “don’t wake him. I drove myself here. I can get myself home.”

“That’s not a good idea. What happens if you’re sick? Howard will not be happy if you throw up in his car.”

“True, though I doubt that’s the worst thing ever done in that car.” She swallows and gets a sour look on her face. “Splendid. I just made myself sick again.”

I laugh. It feels good to be able to laugh after this. “Give me about an hour and I’ll take you home. I need to finish the report so Rose can type it first thing tomorrow… or this morning, for Jack. That reminds me. Jack is flying out with the New York crew.”

She gives me a confused look. “They’re releasing him awfully early, aren’t they?”

“ _They_ are not. Jack’s leaving against doctor’s orders.”

“Is he out of his bloody mind?”

“This is Jack we’re talking about. What do you think?”

“He's out of his bloody mind,” we say together.

Running my hands through her hair, I kiss her forehead. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

She nods. “I will stay in here for a while. I don’t think the toilet and I are not done with each other yet.”

“Are you sure I can’t call Jarvis?”

“No,” she says, breaking the embrace. “I’ll find you when I’m done.”

I nod and move to the door, then turn back to her. “We’re good, right?”

“Yes, we’re quite good,” she says with a small smile.

“I meant about us.”

Her smile widens. “So did I.”


	15. Chapter 15

As we enter Jack’s room, he is closing his suitcase. “About time you two got here. Rose will be here any minute to take me to the airport.”

“And hello to you, too, Jack,” I say, handing him the new Underwood file. “Are you sure you should be leaving so soon?”

He smirks. “Ironic, coming from the woman who was puking her guts out while interrogating a suspect.”

“It wasn’t _while_ I was interrogating her. Besides, being nauseous and having a hole in your lung are hardly comparable.”

“Got my walking papers an hour ago, so it’s a done deal,” he says as he takes a tri-fold piece of paper from the bed and hands it to me. “Speaking of done deals.”

I open it and read the title: ‘Notice of Transfer’. My name is typed, as are the words, ’SSR office, California.’ I don’t read the rest, shock settling in. I hand it to Daniel. He looks at it, eyebrows rising higher the further he reads, then gives it back to me.

“Was this your idea?”

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Daniel says and I believe him.

I turn my attention to Jack. “Do I have a say in this?”

“What do the words ‘done deal’ mean to you?”

“This doesn't have anything to do with what you heard during Dottie’s interrogation…”

“Believe me, Carter,” he says, interrupting me, “I didn't do this for you. I did this for the organization.”

I try unsuccessfully to hide my confusion.

“Look, I don't care what little reindeer games you two play behind closed doors.” Jack shakes his head, as if trying to rid his mind of a terrible thought. “As a matter of fact, I don’t even want to think about it. As much as I hate to admit it, you two are the best team the SSR has. I’d be a fool to break it up when we’re facing… whatever hellish nightmare we’re about to face.”

He looks at Daniel. “Your office has been decimated by Masters. You need personnel. I'm providing you with personnel along with giving us a fighting chance of finding that son of a bitch and making him pay for everything, including the hole in my lung, because as sure as I’m standing here, he's responsible. Once we’ve accomplished that, we’ll reevaluate Carter’s status.”

I look at the paper again, still not fully comprehending it. “This says my home office is California, but New York is still listed. What does that mean?”

“It means you're based here but when I need you for an operation, you'll be in New York.” He grins. “Now you'll have two bosses to report to instead of one.”

“Oh happy day,” I say, sarcasm dripping off the words.

Rose enters the room, obviously surprised to see us. “Oh, hi, Chief, Peggy. Chief Thompson, your chariot awaits.” She turns to me. “How are you feeling, Peggy?”

“Better. Thanks, Rose.”

Jack grabs his suitcase and heads for the door. “Enough pleasantries. Let’s go.”

Rose shrugs and follows him.

“Let us know you got there safely,” I say to his back.

“Yes, Mom.”

I shake my head and look at Daniel. “Sometimes I want to care about him, and sometimes I want to kick his arse.”

“He elicits that reaction from most people.”

We start down the hospital corridor.

“You OK with this, Peggy?”

I hesitate. “In the interest of honesty, I’m not sure. It wasn’t my decision, which I don’t like. However, I do see its merits.” He smiles. “I didn't mean _those_ merits, Daniel.”

He chuckles. “I think Jack is right, though. It's the best decision for the SSR.”

I'm loyal to the SSR but only to a point, and that point ends with my brother. “Despite my change of venue, I'm still investigating Michael’s death.”

“I know you are.”

“And it may require me to go to New York, or elsewhere.”

“It might, but what Jack said may be true, that Masters is somehow involved with that file. We find Masters, we find the file and we may learn more about your brother.”

I want that to be true but deep down, I know it’s bigger than that. Bigger than any of us can imagine.

We exit the hospital in silence, crossing the parking lot to Daniel’s car.

“The more I think about it,” I say as we reach the car, “the more I'm warming to the idea that this is the best decision right now. For the SSR and for us.”

I climb into the car, as does Daniel. He sighs, puts his hands on the steering wheel and looks at me.

“We have another decision to make,” I say, as serious as possible.

“What’s that?”

“Where do we eat? I’m starving.”

Daniel smiles. “Jarvis told me about a little taco shop a few blocks from my place.”

“Perfect.” I put my hand on his thigh. “Can we get them to go?”

\----------------

“Mr. Jarvis was right,” Peggy says around a biteful of taco. “These are delightful. Whoever thought of this little bundle of deliciousness was a genius.”

The two-seat dinette in my kitchen is covered with paper wrappings, along with two plates and a dozen napkins.

“They’re messy but good.” I’m just starting on my second taco, while she’s just finishing up hers. “This is as good a time as any to talk, especially about the work ‘us’.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s quite overdue.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, and now that you’re here on a semi-permanent basis, I think we should go over some ground rules.” She nods, and I continue. “First off, no favoritism. You will have to do the most boring jobs like filing, wire taps, just like everyone else.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She eyes my half-eaten taco. “You gonna finish that?”

I was, but the look on her face makes me change my mind. I move my plate in front of her and she grabs the taco remnants.

“Guess your appetite is back.”

“I didn't eat for an entire day,” she says, mouthful of taco. “Just making up for lost time.”

I smile and shake my head. “To continue, with the exception of our highest profile case, Vernon Masters, we will not be teamed in the field.”

She nods. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“I'm not crazy about us working Masters together, either, but Jack is right, they need us on this one.”

“Agreed,” she says, finishing up the taco.

“I know this is going to be awkward for a while, me being in charge.”

“I rather like it when you take charge.” Her lips curl into a sly smile.

This is hard enough to talk about as it is. I don’t need Playful Peggy making an appearance. Not yet, anyway. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

“So am I,” she says, her expression sincere. “I like seeing you confident. You’re an excellent leader. It's a side of you I knew was there but didn't get to see much in New York.” She gives me an eyebrow flip. “Not to mention, it's quite sexy.”

I shoot her a ‘knock it off’ look.

Her smile fades. “I’m sorry, this, us working together, now that we’re… together, is difficult for me. Humor makes it more palatable.” She sighs. “I’ve spent my career being accused of sleeping my way to the top, and now it’s happened.”

Wow, I wasn’t expecting that. I knew being a woman made it more difficult for her, but I didn’t realize exactly what she has endured.

I take her hand. “Peggy, you know that’s not true.”

“I know it and you know it, but others don’t.”

“What happened to the woman who told me what others think doesn’t matter?”

“She’s feeling a bit out of sorts lately,” she says with a sad smile.

“She shouldn’t. She’s an intelligent, courageous, amazing woman, a top-notch investigator and the best SSR agent around. She has nothing to worry about.” I pause. “On second thought, she has one thing to worry about.”

She raises one eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Her reputation for not listening to her supervisors.”

Both eyebrows are up now. “Are you insinuating that I have an issue with authority?”

I look at her, saying ‘What do you think?’ with my expression.

She demures. “Perhaps I do have a tiny issue with it.”

“I can’t have you questioning my authority in front of others.”

“I may question your decisions, Daniel, but I would never, ever question your authority.”

“So if I pull rank on you again?”

She hesitates. “I won’t be pleased about it but I will always respect it.”

“Good. Now, about public displays of affection. It will be difficult, at least for me, not to want to touch you,” I hold our coupled hands up as evidence, “but it can’t happen at the office.”

“No sex in the broom closet. Check.”

I sigh. I do have to admit, though, I was thinking the same thing.

“I think this is a good initial plan for work,” I say instead.

“Agreed.”

I squeeze her hand. “What else?”

“Well, I have to figure out where I’m going to live,” she says with a frown. “I can’t freeload off of Howard forever.”

“I doubt he thinks it’s freeloading.”

“I know, but if I am going to be here, even temporarily, I need a place of residence, not a lended suite.”

I start playing with a stray piece of lettuce on the table. “We could get a place together.” I don’t look at her, waiting for her laugh. She doesn’t.

“Daniel, are you suggesting we live in sin?”

“Why stop now?” I look up at her and she’s smiling one of those brilliant Peggy Carter smiles. “It’s just a thought. We’ll find you a place. Los Angeles is the city of opportunity.”

She pushes her chair back and stands. “I’m going to get more comfortable,” she says, pointing to her legs. “Los Angeles is definitely not the city for ladies who wear nylons.”

She leaves and I start cleaning up the kitchen, putting the plates in the sink and turning on the faucet. This is going to be tricky, balancing the personal ‘us’ with the professional ‘us’, and trying to keep them separate. It isn't going to be easy for either one of us, but mostly for Peggy. She has to deal with an office full of testosterone, which she's used to, but it's exponentially worse now that we're together. And knowing that Baxter is a bigger gossip than Rose, the whole damn office knows about us by now. I need to put a lid on that as soon as possible.

I finish up with the dishes and clean off the table, then leave the kitchen. I assume Peggy is still in the bathroom, but out of the corner of my eye, I see movement in the living room.

She is sitting on the floor, legs splayed out in front of her with a file folder between them. It must be the other copy of the Underwood file, since that’s the only one I brought with us. Her bare legs had me captivated so much, I didn’t realize what she is wearing: my pajama top, and not much else.

“Did you pilfer my pajamas?”

She looks offended though I know she is not. “Pilfer? I prefer to think of it as borrow. Besides, you don’t wear the tops, do you?”

Good point. Plus it looks so much better on her than it would me. The shirt barely covers the tops of her thighs, leaving little to the imagination.

“You’re welcome to sit on the couch, Peggy.”

She gives me a dubious look. “The floor is more comfortable than your couch.”

“I love my couch,” I say, mock pain in my voice. “This couch is very comfortable. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep on it.”

I sink into the worn cushion. It’s second-hand and has seen its share of use, but it’s still solid.

“You’re very good at this,” she says, picking up the file. “‘Agent Carter began the interrogation of suspect Underwood at two-eighteen a.m. Transcript to follow.’ There will be no transcript to follow, will there?”

“Nope. I’m afraid our recording equipment malfunctioned.”

“What a shame,” she says, amused.

She leans against my good leg, and my hand goes straight to her hair. Sometimes I still can’t believe that she’s here. She’s wearing my clothes, sitting on my floor, making fun of my couch. I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Well, maybe for one thing.

“Move over.” After she does, I scoot to the edge of the couch, then slowly slide down to the floor. I pat the carpet in front of me. “Come here.”

“I thought this was a working lunch,” she says.

“You ruined it by putting on that shirt.” I take the folder from her and toss it on the couch. “It’s time for me to repay a debt.”

A trace of a smile plays across her lips. She moves over, starting to straddle me, but I stop her. “No, turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around,” I say, meeting her gaze. It’s a standoff for a few seconds but she gives in, sitting between my legs with her back to me.

“You won’t be needing this,” I say, pulling the shirt over her head.

“But I just put it on.”

I smile and run my hands down her arms, stopping at her waist. “You won’t need these, either.” I hook my fingers around the satin panties and push them down. She lifts her hips and moves them the rest of the way off.

She hums her approval. “Much better than a working lunch.”

“Just wait. Put your hands on your thighs.” As soon as she does it, I say, “Now put your legs over mine.”

She turns to look at me and I nod. I can tell she’s curious but also wary, but she turns back around and hooks her heels over my shins.

“Do you trust me, Peg?”

“With my life.”

Abruptly, I spread my legs, causing her legs to spread even further. She gasps as I run my hands down her sides to her hips, pulling her closer to me.

“Relax,” I say softly. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“I know. I was just surprised.”

“That's the idea.”

She settles back against my chest. I resume exploration of her body, running my hands up her arms, over her shoulders, then back down. She relaxes further into me as my hands move to her hair. I pull the strands back from one side and kiss her neck, methodically working my way up to her ear.

“Tell me how you feel,” I say, just above a whisper.

She leans her head back on my shoulder. “Exposed.”

I help myself to her ear, nipping the lobe. “What else?”

“Not in control.”

Interesting. “Does that scare you?”

She sighs. “Normally, yes. With you, no.”

That sends a jolt of electricity through me. Peggy is always in control. The fact that I can cause her to lose control is incredible. I may add it to my résumé.

I take her hand and place it on my forearm. “Other hand on my other arm, and keep them there,” I say, and she listens. I leisurely kiss my way back down her neck. “What else do you feel?”

Another sigh, this one longer than the last. “Aroused. Very aroused.”

I smile against her neck, then lightly bite her skin, which elicits a groan.

“What else?”

“Loved,” she says, barely a whisper.

“You are. More than you'll ever know.” My hands brush over her stomach, then up to her breasts.

She moans, pushing her chest out against my touch. Red fingernails dig into my flesh, but it's a beautiful pain.

Slowly, I move my hands down her body, brushing fingers against the inside of her thighs.

“Tell me what you want,” I say, millimeters from her ear.

“You.”

“You have me.” My hands inch closer to where I know she wants them. “What do you want me to do?”

She whimpers, her hips moving, chasing my fingers.

“What do you want me to do, Peg?”

“Please.”

“Tell me.” I nip at her ear.

“Daniel.” A plea.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Touch me,” she says on a sigh.

I do as she says. One finger on her core, a light swipe up and down. She cries out, her hips bucking.

I've never heard her so vocal, and it's damn near done me in. I focus my energy on that small bundle of nerves, stroking her higher. Her words are unintelligible now, yet they say everything I want to hear.

Within seconds, her hips lift off the floor and she bucks, her full weight against my chest. I keep stroking her until she collapses. Her heavy breathing is the only sound in the room.

“Dear God, that was amazing,” she says through one exhale.

“Yes, it was.” It’s not possible for me to be any harder than I am right now.

“Where did you learn that? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“I didn’t learn it. I just made it up.”

“Really?” A breathy laugh. “Feel free to exercise your imagination anytime.”

There are pressing matters at hand, pressing against her back quite insistently, but I revel in the ability to sit here, just holding the woman I love. Soon enough, we will be Agent Carter and Chief Sousa. But right here, right now, we’re just Peggy and Daniel.


	16. Chapter 16

The past week has been an exercise in frustration. We’ve had no forward motion on locating Vernon Masters. I spent the better part of the week compiling phone and bank records, Los Angeles hotel check-ins and check-outs, and combing through hundreds of pages of flights, trains and buses leaving Los Angeles and New York in the days before and following Jack’s shooting up through yesterday. Nothing. It’s as if he has ceased to exist.

Truthfully, I am thankful for the monotonous work of compiling data on Masters. It’s kept me from beating my head against the brick wall I encountered researching Michael’s service. The one thing I did find out was that the massacre did happen, and the time frame for it is about right. However, no other accounts of what happened exist. Michael’s file is classified, which is a red flag in itself, and no matter how many favors I call in, no one will help. I’ve left messages for a few of Michael’s friends from the service but none have responded. I knew this would be difficult but it seems the more I dig, the more doors are slammed in my face.

At least the office has some positive movement. We now have two new recruits, one of them Neal Freeman. Daniel put out feelers at the LAPD for recruits, and Freeman was one of the first to call for an interview. He passed with flying colors, as expected. I didn’t witness his performance at the movie house, but Daniel and the other agents were impressed.

I am still living at Howard’s, despite Rose recruiting herself to help me find a place. It turns out that since there are so many young ladies with Hollywood stars in their eyes, they have taken up every available room in the city. For the time being, I am also borrowing one of Howard’s cars. I hope to remedy that and my housing situation post-haste.

I suppose ‘living at Howard’s’ isn’t exactly true. Most of my time away from the office has been spent at Daniel’s. He's been wonderful, giving me part of his small closet and letting me use his desk as a vanity. He even gave me a key yesterday. We’ve been arriving at the office at different times despite coming from the same residence. Keeping up appearances and all that.

I find myself wanting to be near Daniel more and more, especially at night. I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts, mostly about Michael. I think he knows how much anxiety this is causing me. He doesn’t push me if I don’t want to talk but is there when I do, which isn't often. It's interesting, really: I readily opened myself to him sexually, but emotionally is still a work in progress.

As I walk into the bullpen, I see Daniel on the phone in his office. He motions to me.

“Yes, thank you, I appreciate it,” he says, then hangs up the phone. “Good morning.”

I think about what we did just a few hours ago in his shower. It is indeed a good morning. “Good morning, Chief.”

He hands me a file. “I have a job for you.”

“Filing?”

“No. Training.”

I raise an eyebrow and open the file. “Ah, Freeman. He’s starting today?”

“He’s splitting his time between here and Homicide until he clears some cases, but he's here for a few hours this morning. He still has to go through the physical training, but I want you taking the lead on his field training. He has good instincts and a lot of potential, so I want him learning from the best.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Chief,” I say under my breath. He hears me and smiles.

I read through the file, impressed with what I see. “U.S. Army Air Corps. Chemical Corp. Decorated. He seems tailor-made for the SSR. I wonder why he never applied before.”

“His father was Homicide, his brother is Homicide in Philadelphia. It was expected of him.”

I fully understand doing what is expected of you, then realizing your life is no longer your own. It was expected of me to marry, have children, help in the war effort but not in the field. It took my brother dying to make me open my eyes and wake up my life.

“You OK, Peg?”

“Yes, just tired.”

“You haven’t been sleeping much.”

Sleep is a fickle friend of late. I thought since Daniel is a heavy sleeper, my fidgeting was not bothering him. I thought wrong.

He clears his throat. “I just want to let you know, I’m going to air our dirty laundry with Greene and Baxter this morning.”

I’m not surprised; he mentioned last night that he was thinking about it. It's going to be uncomfortable for everyone, especially me, but I've never backed down from a challenge and I'm not going to start now.

“I think that’s best.”

“Good.” He rises from the desk. “You ready?”

“Always,” I say, meaning it.

We walk the short distance to the meeting room, where Baxter and Greene are already seated. I take a seat as well, though Daniel remains standing.

“Before we start,” Daniel says, “I want to apologize to all of you. During the operation in the movie theater, I let my emotions get the better of me. I am the chief, but I am also human. It happens to the best of us from time to time.” He pauses, allowing himself a small smile. “I want this out in the open, before we have new recruits coming on board. I’ve always operated this office as a team, everyone with equal voices, and that's how it will continue. If you have a comment, say it now.”

Baxter and Greene look at each other, as if one is telling the other to be the first to speak.

“You were still in control, chief,” Greene says, “maybe just a little slow to show it.”

Daniel nods. He looks to Baxter. “You always have something to say, John. Don't hold back now.”

Baxter runs a hand over his chin. “It's… gonna take some getting used to having the boss and an agent… you know.” He shrugs for effect.

Daniel nods again, no anger or surprise on his face, but I can tell he is choosing his words carefully. “I expect that every agent, including me, can and will conduct themselves in a professional manner. The work will continue to be split evenly. No favoritism, no exceptions. Just as it’s always been. What Agent Carter and I do on off-times is our business, not yours, but I guarantee that it will not affect the operation of this office. Are we clear?”

The two men nod, as do I.

“Alright, on to the business of the day. We have two new recruits who should be here any minute. Rose is giving them the tour of the building right now. I will be meeting with them briefly, then they will go with their senior agents for office assignments. Baxter, you have George Speaker.”

“Yeah,” Baxter says, “I'm putting him on transcription of some wire taps from my current case. His file says he can type fast. Fingers crossed.”

Daniel nods. “Carter, you have Neal Freeman.”

“Agent Freeman and I will be tackling the storage room, which I understand has been a mess for quite some time.”

Baxter laughs. “Since we moved into the building.”

“We have an additional two recruits still going through background checks and physicals,” Daniel says. “The hope is that they will start in two weeks. At that time, all four will proceed with physical training. Greene, how is the facility search going?”

“It’s going well,” the young agent says. “I'm going to look at a local college today. The school is on break when we need it, so it should work out. They have a new track-and-field facility that will meet our needs.”

Daniel nods. “Good. Keep me posted. Anything else?”

Head-shakes all around.

“Then let’s get to work,” he says. Baxter and Greene exit first, with me not far behind.

I walk to my desk, which is nearest to the storage room, hence the reason I chose to take on that disaster area. I am sick of looking at it. I still have another fifty or so pages to review of hotel reservations but I am not hopeful. How is it that a man who always wanted to be seen with the most influential and important people has now become an expert in invisibility?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone approaching my desk. I look up into the eyes of Baxter. I hadn't noticed before how much he reminds me of a 1920s Mafia man: dark eyes, slicked-back black hair, a face that belies an Italian heritage even though his name does not. All he is missing is the Brooklyn accent.

“I just wanted to say that I didn't mean any disrespect in there,” he says.

“None taken, Agent Baxter.”

“John.” He offers a hand, even though I shook it when I first arrived in the LA office.

“Peggy,” I say, shaking his hand.

“Welcome to the office, officially, Peggy.” He nods, then walks away.

That was odd. Thoughtful but odd.

I look up to see Neal Freeman and a gentleman I don't recognize enter the bullpen behind Rose. They walk directly into the room that Baxter, Greene and I just vacated. Rose immediately comes back out, closing the door behind her. She makes a beeline to my desk.

“I may have a lead on a house for you, Peggy.”

“A house?” I didn't ask to find a house. A house has many rooms. I just need one.

“I know you wanted a room, but it's perfect. Less than a mile away from here. I drove by it this morning. It's adorable!”

Just what I need, an adorable house.

I smile anyway. “Sounds promising.”

“Now, I haven't seen the inside, but I have an appointment this afternoon. If it checks out, I'll bring you to see it.”

“Great,” I say as sincerely as possible. “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem.” She leans closer to me. “Besides, the chief’s place isn't big enough for two people to live comfortably.”

“Actually, I am staying at Howard’s,” I say and hope I’m convincing.

She smiles sweetly. “Of course you are, Peg.” With that, she walks away.

Apparently we can add lie detector to Rose’s duties.

The phone on my desk rings, startling me. I pick up the receiver. “Peggy Carter.”

“You need to stop this.”

Who the bloody hell is this? “I’m sorry, with whom am I speaking?”

“Stop looking into your brother's death.”

The voice. It’s familiar. Think, Peggy. Deep, throaty, maybe a smoker? Alan Duvane, Michael’s friend in his unit, was a smoker.

“Alan?”

“You need to stop this. You don’t want the answer.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Remember your brother the way he was.”

“Why are they trying to destroy his reputation?”

“They aren’t. He did it on his own.”

I see Daniel emerge from the meeting room, the two recruits in tow. They head to Baxter’s desk.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, drop it.”

“Alan, he's being framed. What you think you knew…”

“...is the truth.”

“It can't be. This is Michael we’re talking about.”

Daniel approached with Freeman. I don't know if it's my body language or he heard me say my brother’s name, but Daniel’s expression softens immediately. He stops his approach and redirects Freeman to Greene’s desk.

“Please, can we talk further?”

“Just stop. Please, Peggy. For all of our sakes.”

I flinch at the disconnecting click. Immediately, I ring the operator.

“Can you tell what number just called this phone?”

A pause, then, “That would be Amherst five, four two five eight.”

That’s not the number I found for Alan. “What locale is that?”

“It's in Phoenix, Arizona, ma’am.”

Arizona? “Can you ring it for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I wait several seconds, expecting the operator to return saying there is no answer. But there is, and it’s a female voice.

“Hello?”

“Yes, may I speak with Alan?”

A hesitation. “Um, this is a pay phone. I don’t see anyone around here waiting for a call. I need to use the phone.”

A pay phone? That explains the noise in the background. “Could you tell me where this pay phone is?”

My question goes unanswered as I hear a click.

Why would Alan, who supposedly lives in New Jersey, be calling me from Arizona? Did someone get word to him? What the bloody hell is going on?

Daniel and Freeman approach my desk.

“Neal, you remember Peggy Carter,” Daniel says with a professional voice but a concerned expression.

“Of course.” Freeman shakes my hand. “Nice to see you again, Agent Carter.”

“Call me Peggy, please,” I say, still thinking about the phone call.

Daniel’s gaze never wavers from me. “Peggy has some work planned in the storage room for you two.”

I absently point to the room by my desk. “Let me get a pad of paper and I'll meet you in there.”

“Sounds good,” Freeman says, walking the few steps to the room.

Daniel leans in. “Are you OK?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying?”

He knows me far too well. “Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Later.”

I grab the pad and walk away, knowing he is watching me, and worrying.


	17. Chapter 17

It's well past sundown by the time I get home. I unlock the front door, balancing the paper bag of food in one hand and my crutch in the other.

Peggy is stretched out on my couch, still in the dress she wore to work. She starts to get up. “Hang on, I’ll help.”

“No, I've got it,” I say as I close the door.

She meets me halfway and takes the bag from my hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yep. I took a chance that you'd be hungry.”

I follow her into the kitchen. She knows where the plates are and gets them down from the cupboard. I lean my crutch against the table, then sneak up behind her and envelop her in my arms. She leans back, head against my shoulder.

Ever since my improvised debt repayment, I've noticed she likes to stand or sit against me, her back to my chest, my arms around her. I'm mighty fond of it myself.

“I've been waiting to do this all day,” I say, emphasizing it with a kiss to her neck.

She puts the plates on the counter and her hands cover mine.

“Did you get some rest?”

“Not really,” she says. “Just took a little time to relax.”

“My couch is pretty comfortable, isn't it?”

“Tell that to my back.”

“Your back feels pretty good to me.”

She sighs. “Thank you.”

“You're quite welcome.”

“Not for the back comment. For this.”

I look around. “Tacos?”

Her hands run along my forearms. “No, this. You.” She turns to face me. “You have been my one constant in what has been non-stop chaos for weeks, and after what happened today, I fear it will get even worse. Knowing you are here for me makes it easier to push through.”

I don't know what to say, so I kiss her instead, hoping that will show her how much she means to me, and that I feel the same way. What we have been through, starting with learning about Zero Matter’s existence, should only be found in science fiction novels. It shouldn’t be real life, but it is; it’s our real life. Facing all of this without Peggy by my side would be unbearable, not to mention impossible.

Reluctantly, I break the kiss. “Tell me what happened.”

As we sit at the table to eat, she relays her brief conversation with Alan Duvane and the call-back to the pay phone. She’s picking at the tacos, not really eating. I know this is tearing her apart inside and I don’t know what to do to make it stop.

“I'm not sure what to make of it,” she says, a frustrated tone in her voice. “Alan says this is Michael’s fault, that he did something. I have no idea what or why it would end up in the official record. I refuse to believe that he murdered those villagers, but maybe he saw who did and wasn't able to stop them. Was that what got him killed? Or am I jumping at shadows?”

“We’d only be speculating at this point. The only thing we do know is that someone doesn't want you looking into this.”

And knowing Peggy, she's going to look even harder because of it.

“I suppose I could go to Phoenix,” she says, “see if I can find Alan.”

“Peg, before you do that, are you sure it was really Alan Duvane you were talking to?”

Her brow furrows. “I… I don't know. The voice sounded familiar, I thought, but maybe I was reading into it.” She sighs. “I don't know what to believe anymore.”

I get up from the chair and kneel in front of her, taking her hands in mine. “You still have calls out to other people, right?” She nods. “Why don't you wait another day, see if one of them answers you? In the meantime, I'll call in a favor with New Jersey PD and see what I can find out about Duvane. We’ll also talk to Jack. He found the file. Maybe he can remember more information.”

“Daniel, you don't have to help…”

I put a finger over her lips. “You're right, I don't have to. I want to. I know you're not used to asking for help, but you don't have to do this alone. You don't have to hold it inside anymore.” I smile. “Let it all hang out, Peggy.”

She’s fighting a smile but doesn't succeed. “I'm sure you would like it if I let it all hang out.”

“It's one of my favorite things.” I squeeze her hand. “Don’t ever be afraid to ask for my help. I don’t see it as a sign of weakness. I see it as a sign of trust.”

She cups my face with her hands. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You're just lucky, I guess.”

“Very lucky.” She punctuates it with a gentle kiss.

I struggle a little to get up but she lets me do it myself. Yet another reason I love her.

“Eat,” I say, making my way to the chair. “I'm sure you haven't had anything since this morning.”

“Are you spying on me?”

“Well, considering it’s part of my job description…”

She glares at me as she takes a bite of the taco. We eat in silence, making short order of the food. Even though they are cold, the tacos are still tasty.

Peggy clears off the table and puts the dishes in the sink.

“Leave those,” I say. “Go change into your pajamas and meet me on the bed.”

She looks at the clock hanging by the back door. “Really? So early?”

“Yes, really.”

As she walks into the bathroom, I leave the kitchen and go to my desk, now Peggy’s vanity, and peruse the various bottles. I find one with the word ‘lotion’ on it and hope for the best.

When I get to the bed, I shed my clothes and leg, opting for pajama bottoms, and lay with my back against the headboard. It is still early but tonight, turning in before ten p.m. would do us both some good.

She comes out of the bathroom in her floral pajamas, and before I have a chance to react, she jumps on the bed, landing partly on top of me.

“That, Daniel Sousa, is a pounce,” she says, triumphant. “See the difference?”

I have to laugh. “I do. My mistake.”

“I forgive you.”

She leans in and she shows me how much she forgives me, an insistent kiss that gets more incendiary as the seconds tick by. I break away before it gets any more out of control.

She gives me a quizzical look. “What's wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing. I want you to relax tonight. Really relax.”

She smiles as her hand moves down my chest. “I know one way…”

I return the smile and stop her hand’s travels. “That doesn't seem to make you sleepy. Let's try something different.”

Her eyebrow goes up. “What did you have in mind?”

“Take off your shirt.”

She cocks her head to one side. “And this is different, how?”

“I'm going for relaxation,” I say.

“Having me remove clothing doesn't exactly scream ‘relax’ to me.”

“Trust me.”

She does. The shirt is gone and I am treated to the best view in California. Focus, Danny boy.

“Lay down on your stomach,” I say, resisting the urge to reach out and touch that view.

She gives me a sideways glance, then sees the lotion on the side table. A smile blossoms on her lips as she lays down, head on her crossed arms. I part her hair, getting as much off her back as possible.

I open the bottle of lotion and put some in my hands. I remember from physical therapy that Violet would warm the lotion in her hands first, so I do the same. A twinge of guilt moves through me, thinking of Violet at a time like this, but it disappears just as fast. I’ve come to realize that Peggy and I were meant to be, no matter what I did to make it not so. I’m just sorry I had to hurt someone before I figured it out.

I let my hands flow along Peggy’s spine starting at the small of her back, traveling up and pressing with my thumbs. I am rewarded with a throaty moan. I keep working my thumbs into her muscles, trying my best to knead out the stress of the past few weeks. Thumbs on either side of her spine, I apply pressure as I move up her back.

“You have magic fingers,” she says, relaxing further into the mattress.

I work on her shoulders next, running thumbs along her shoulder blades, up and down. Another moan. My fingers get to the tops of her shoulders and I squeeze the muscles into submission.

Moving aside the hair around her neck, I cup the base and dig my fingers and thumb in. No moan this time but a content sigh. The more I do, the more relaxed her muscles feel.

I repeat the motions: up and down her back, then shoulders, then neck. Next is her lower back, and I dig into the two small indentations above her ass. Peggy has an amazing ass. Hell, her entire body is amazing. I’ve spent many a night dreaming about what that body looked like naked, and now I know first-hand. Sometimes it takes every bit of willpower I have to keep from running my hands up and down that amazing body. When we’re here, I don’t have to keep my feelings in check. I can let it all hang out.

Lightly, I run a hand up and down her back. “Peggy?”

Silence. Her breathing has evened out. She’s asleep.

I close the lotion bottle and shut off the light. There's just enough room in the bed for me to squeeze in. It's not the most comfortable position but I don't care. I wanted her to relax. Mission accomplished, even if just for tonight.

\---------

The smell of coffee brings me back to consciousness. Personally, I hate the taste of it but love the bitter scent. Daniel must be up and eating breakfast.

I slept the sleep of the dead last night. How is that hands normally capable of sending fire through my body can so thoroughly relax it as well?

Walking into the bathroom, I turn on the shower and grab my toothbrush and toothpaste. May as well take care of two things at once. Toothbrush in my mouth and shampoo in my hair, I shower as quickly as possible. I want to catch him before he leaves to thank him for last night.

As I finish up, I see a shadow through the shower curtain. Pulling back the fabric, there stands a smug Daniel, leaning against the counter, holding my towel.

“You seem to have a habit of stealing people’s towels.”

“Not people. Just you.”

“May I have my towel, please?”

“Come and get it,” he says with a rakish smile.

A challenge. Very well, I accept. I charge toward him, foregoing the proffered towel, and wrap my arms around him. He looks down at his shirt, which is soaked from my hair.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that, Peggy.”

I look up at him sweetly. “I certainly hope so.”

As his lips lock with mine, I get to work on unbuttoning his shirt. He turns us around so that my back is against the counter. Hands at my hips, he lifts me so that I sit on the cold porcelain. My bum almost slips inside the sink but he pulls me to him.

I break the kiss and push the shirt off his shoulders. “It would have been much more convenient if you had come in here naked.”

“But not nearly as much fun,” he says.

I kiss him again and get to work on his belt and pants. He opens the medicine cabinet next to my head and digs blindly, knocking items onto me. I don't care; I know what he's looking for. Pants undone and out of my way, I hold him in my hand.

“Peg--”

And, as luck would have it, the phone rings.

We both groan.

“Son of a bitch,” he says, his forehead against mine. “This better be damn important.”

He grabs his pants and yanks them up with one hand as he rushes to the phone. It's quite a sight, and I have to laugh. He glares at me as he picks up the receiver.

“Hello?”

Silence, then, “Good morning, Rose.”

I slip on my robe, and he frowns. I know that if Rose is calling this early, we won’t be continuing what we were doing.

“OK, I'll be in soon,” he says, then a pause. “Yes. Oh, do me a favor. Somewhere in my office is a business card for a Detective Greg Travis from New Jersey PD. Find it for me.” Another pause. “Yes, I know it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.” One last pause. “Thanks, Rose.” He hangs up the phone.

I look at the clock on the bedside table. “What is Rose doing in the office at six a.m.?”

“With Underwood’s transfer, we’re dealing with the time difference in New York. I have to leave. The prosecutor will be in Jack’s office in half an hour and he wants me to join in over the phone.” He looks down at himself, shirt gone, undershirt soaked and pants darkened by water. “That leaves me just enough time to change and drive there.”

I let out a burst of laughter. “I'm sorry. What can I do to help?”

He sits on the bed and pushes off his pants. “Hand me a shirt and pair of pants from the closet.”

I pick out a non-Hawaiian shirt -- I love you, Daniel, but I detest these prints -- and trousers. I bring the clothes to him, then run my fingers through his hair.

“You’re not helping, Peg,” he says in a sing-song voice as he puts on the shirt over a fresh undershirt.

“I mussed your hair. I’m trying to fix it.”

“I’ll fix it later,” he says, pushing me away. He stands and pulls up the new trousers, tucking in the shirt.

He finishes dressing, and I start to walk away but he grabs my arm, pulling me to him.

“You'll get wet again,” I say as his hands go to my still drenched hair.

“I'll take my chances.”

The kiss is unhurried yet no less passionate than earlier. All too soon, he pulls back.

“Rain check ‘til tonight?”

“Absolutely,” I say, smoothing my hands over the crisp shirt. “I want to thank you for last night.”

“That sounds promising.”

“Indeed. And maybe we’ll use the bed this time.”


	18. Chapter 18

I wasn’t thinking straight when I took that shower. I have curlers but no hair dryer at Daniel’s. A scarf and rolled-down windows will have to do for the drive in. Now I wish I'd asked to borrow Howard’s convertible.

I arrive at the office and plan my entry. If I am lucky, no agents will be in the lobby. I open the door a crack, then look inside.

“Good morning, Peggy,” Rose says. “Nice scarf.”

The coast is clear. I walk in, closing the door behind me. “I need to borrow the costume room.” I remove the scarf, revealing a head full of curlers.

“Hair emergency?”

“Yes, and I'm afraid it's still not dry.”

“No problem,” she says, leading me into the costume room. “We have a portable hair dryer.”

Ten minutes under the dryer and I'm sweating, but my hair is dry. Rose takes the curlers out and starts brushing my hair.

“I don't want to interrupt your duties, Rose.”

“Don't worry. Wannabe actresses rarely get up this early. No one will be here for a few hours.”

She doesn't take the hint.

“Oh, Peg, I saw the house yesterday and it's wonderful! First and only owner, God rest her soul, was the mother of one of Aloysius’ friends.”

Samberly has friends? 

Rose continues. “It's not on the market yet so you would have a good shot at it. It has two bedrooms and a bath, with a small powder room, too. It could use some updating here and there. The back yard is small but the front yard is beautiful.”

I put on my most sincere smile. “Rose, I can't thank you enough for helping me with this…”

“It's no bother, really.”

“...but I don't think a house is right for me. I may be splitting my time between here and New York, so just having a room will suit me better. The house sounds wonderful but it's too much for one person.”

Rose tilts her head. “I guess you're right that it's too much for one person…”

“I'm glad you understand.”

“...but it's perfect for two.” She adds a sweet smile.

I sigh. “Finding a roommate would be very time consuming. And I don't know that I would want to share a house with someone I don't know, especially with my line of work.”

Rose puts a hand on her hip. “Peggy, please tell me you're not that dense.”

What did she just say? “I beg your pardon?”

“You already have a roommate. If you want to call him that.” Another smile, this one on conspiratorial side.

Oh. Right.

“You're basically living together right now, aren't you?”

I refuse to dignify that with an answer. 

“Peggy, there's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I am not ashamed of anything, and we are not living together,” I say, perhaps with more bite than necessary. I take a deep breath, let it out. “Rose, I may have an unconventional career for a woman, but I am still a proper lady. Proper ladies do not live with men to whom they are not married.”

“I see,” she says, teasing a section of hair. “So when did you and Howard get married?”

“What?!”

“Well, you're living with him.”

I glare at her in the mirror. “I am staying at his residence until I can find permanent housing. He is a friend providing shelter for a friend. Society would not frown upon that.”

She huffs. “Peg, since when do you listen to what society dictates? You are a woman in a male-exclusive job who kicks butt better than any man I've seen. And the chief… most men who come home with that kind of injury get desk jobs, or worse. He's a chief of the SSR and a field agent, doing a far better job than most men with both legs intact.” She shakes her head. “You two are the antithesis of societal norms. I don't know why you feel the need to conform.”

I don't know how to answer that. 

“Unless it's because you don't want to live with him. Is he not the one?”

This conversation has me completely flustered. “The one what?”

“You know, The One, capital ‘t’, capital ‘o’. The man you can see yourself with, getting married, starting a family, growing old together. The white picket fence. The whole nine yards. The One.”

The One. Is he? Can I see a future with Daniel? I can’t see us with the white picket fence, but getting married? I suppose I've thought about it, little flickers here and there, but I try to push those thoughts down. They can be dangerous.

I have conveniently forgotten that getting a place together was his idea. I ignored his comment, not taking it seriously. Was it serious? Was he thinking of a future with me? Is he thinking the whole nine yards, whatever that means?

I nod. I understand now. Dense Peggy is finally getting it. 

“Then what's the hold up, Peg?”

Yes, what _is_ the hold up, Peg?

“We have only been dating a few weeks,” I say, much of the fight taken out of me.

“Yes, but the foreplay has been going on for almost two years.”

“Rose!”

She shrugs and turns her attention to another section of hair. However, she cannot hide the celebratory smile on her lips.

“And do worry about my reputation,” I say.

“You shouldn't.” She locks eyes with me in the mirror. “What you do with your life is your business, no one else’s. You are so strong, able to stare down the biggest threats. Use that strength to stare down anyone who questions your morals.”

She's making sense. Damn her. “There's also Daniel. I'm not sure he feels the same way about me.” 

Laughter bursts from her. “Are you kidding? He knew you were The One, capital letters, back in New York. He just wouldn't admit it, or wouldn't let himself believe it could be reciprocated. He tried to run away from it by rushing into an engagement with a woman who is very sweet and kind, great wife material, but very clearly not The One.”

“He told you this?”

She attacks my hair with the brush again. “He didn't have to. When you work with someone day in and day out, you learn a lot about them and their moods. He wasn't the same Daniel Sousa until you walked through that filing cabinet.”

I smile. “I have a hard time believing that.”

“Believe what you want, but I'm telling you, I don't think I've seen that man so happy as I have the past two weeks.” She looks at me in the mirror. “You're allowed to be happy, too, you know.”

I know. It's just hard to see that sometimes. Happiness can be wonderful but it also can be devastating. “I was happy once, truly, inexplicably happy, and then my life exploded into a million pieces. It took so long to pick up the shards.”

“Oh, Peg,” she says, her hands going to my shoulders, her head next to mine.

Did I say that out loud? Bloody hell. 

“I'm sorry,” I say with no idea why I am apologizing.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You and the chief, you have something rare, something very special. Don't let the past cloud your future.”

I sigh, resolved to admitting that she is one-hundred percent right. Daniel and I do have something special. Is it a future kind of special? I hope so.

“You are very wise, Rose.”

“I know,” she says, looking smug. “So will you let me show you two the house this afternoon?”

I sigh. “Alright, yes, but no promises.”

“None expected.” She admires her handiwork one last time, flicking an errant hair into place. “I do good work.”

Yes, you do, Rose. In more ways than one.

\--------------

“Well, that couldn't have gone any worse,” Jack says over the phone.

I tried to warn him but for once, Jack was trying to be an optimist. “You knew the prosecutor was going to nail us for not having the full file on Underwood. We’re lucky we can get her for Peggy and I.” 

“Sousa, you and Carter need to get that file.”

“We’re working on it. As a matter of fact, stay on the line. Peggy and I want to talk to you.”

“That sounds ominous.”

I open the office door and stick my head out. Peggy is at her desk, head down, reading a large stack of papers. For some reason, she looks up. I approach her desk.

“Jack’s on the phone,” I say and she gets up from her chair.

“By the way, I talked to that detective in New Jersey. He's checking into Alan Duvane and will call me back if he finds anything.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” she says, her eyes telling me a mere thank you is not enough. 

We enter my office, and I close the door behind us. On my desk is the amplifier, and I put the phone receiver in the top of the black box.

“Jack, you there?”

“Yep. What’s going on?”

“We wanted to talk to you about the files from Vernon Masters’ briefcase,” Peggy says.

“O...kay. I already told you what I know.”

“There has to be something else there, Jack. Something you can remember.”

“Carter, don’t you think I’ve been racking my brain about those? I can’t remember anything significant other than the Underwood file.”

“What else was in there?”

“There was the Hampton case, which I already told you about. A case that turned out to be a hoax.”

“Only two files?”

“No, there was another, but it looked personal.”

“Personal,” I say. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he was buying some land. It had only his name on it, so I assumed it was personal.”

“Where was the land?”

“Somewhere in Arizona.”

Peggy and I look at each other, our faces sharing the same shock.

“Where?”

Jack huffs. “Why?”

“I think it’s important, Jack,” Peggy says. “Where in Arizona?”

“I can't remember. It will come to me eventually.”

“We don't have eventually,” I say.

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Sousa.” Silence on Jack’s side. “I think it started with an S. And maybe it was a Spanish name? Or maybe Indian?”

I get up from my chair and open the office door. “Freeman!”

He is at the door in a matter of seconds. “Yes, sir.”

“Check in that box of maps in the storage room and find Arizona,” Peggy says.

“Will do.”

“Wait,” I say. “You speak Spanish, right?”

Freeman nods. “Well enough to get by.”

“Get the map and come in here.”

Peggy and I watch as Freeman runs to the storage room and dumps the contents of a box on the floor. He shuffles the maps around, grabs one and runs into the office.

I close the door behind him. “Jack, Neal Freeman is joining us.” I turn to Freeman. “We’re looking for a city that begins with an S and has a Spanish or Indian name.”

He scans the map and starts reading off names. “Sacaton?”

“No,” Jack says immediately.

“Sierra Vista?”

“Nope.”

“San Luis?”

“No.”

“Sahuarita? San Xavier? Sasabe?”

“Wait, what was that second one? Spell it.”

“Two words. S-A-N-X-A…”

“No,” Jack says, “it didn’t have an X in it. What about the one before it.”

“Sahuarita. S-A-H-U-A-R-I-T-A.”

“That might be it. I think there was an H in there somewhere.”

Freeman gives the city list another look. “This is the only one with an H that is a non-English name.”

Peggy leans forward. “Do you remember if it was a commercial purchase? Or residential?”

“Carter, I looked at it for about ten seconds. That's all I've got.”

“That’s enough to start,” Daniel says. “We’ll head out to Arizona.”

“You want me to send reinforcements?”

Daniel shakes his head. “No, we’ve got it.”

“I hope so,” Jack says as he disconnects.

I turn to Freeman. “Find out what county that town is in and contact the county assessor's office to see what land has been purchased or leased in the past month, residential and commercial. Also, contact the Bureau of Land Management, in case it was a state land.”

“Right,” Freeman says. “There’s a lot of reservation land there as well, so I’ll contact the Bureau of Indian Affairs.”

“Good.” I watch Freeman walk out of the office.

“Daniel, we could have used a few extra hands from New York. It’s not like we are teaming with agents.”

“I’m sick of running to Jack for help,” I say. “We can handle it.”

“Masters has to know there’s a chance that Jack read that file and knows about the land. This could be a trap. We need more than just you and I out there.”

She’s right, once again. “Freeman is coming with.”

“He hasn’t had field training,” she says.

“Nothing like on-the-job training to get you up and running.”

She shakes her head. “We need one more, preferably someone with training. Baxter?”

“No, I’ll put him in charge while I’m gone.”

“Greene?”

“He’ll have to take Baxter’s rookie.” 

“Rose?”

“I need her to keep an eye on Baxter.” Maybe I didn’t think this through. “Dammit. I guess I’ll have to call Jack back.”

A smile graces Peggy’s lips. “Maybe not.”

I know that smile. I know exactly what she’s thinking, and… “No.”

“Fine, go crawling back to Jack.”

Son of a bitch. I pick up the receiver and hand it to her, dialing the number I know by heart.

“Good morning, Mr. Jarvis,” she says into the phone while smiling at me. “Have you ever been to Arizona?”


	19. Chapter 19

“OK,” Rose says, “your hotel reservations have been made in Tucson, near the airport. Mr. Jarvis is taking care of the flight, since it’s one of Mr. Stark’s airplanes. Also, Mr. Jarvis is picking up Agent Freeman at home and they are going to the airport together.”

Peggy and I, suitcases in hand, follow Rose to her car. I load our bags into the trunk, then get in the passenger seat. Peggy is already in the back seat.

“Rose,” I say, “I appreciate you taking us but we could have called a taxi.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it, Chief. Besides, we have a quick stop to make.” 

I notice her looking in the rear view mirror at Peggy. What are these two up to? “Where are we stopping?”

“It’s a place, a house, for Peggy to live.”

I turn around to Peggy. “A house?”

She shrugs. “It’s worth a look. It won’t take long.”

We are on the road less than five minutes and Rose pulls up to a small cottage-style house. The house is off-white with light orange trim. Two large bushes with reddish-orange roses sit on either side of the stairs to the porch. The house and yard look well kept.

“Here it is,” Rose says, the excitement in her voice unmistakable. “Isn't it adorable? The key is under the mat. Go take a look.” She looks at me. “Both of you. I'll wait here.”

The look on her face, not to mention the shooing motion of her hand, leaves no room for argument.

I get out of the car as Peggy is checking under the mat. Sure enough, there’s a key, and she uses it to open the door.

The house is cozy yet roomier than my place. There is no furniture but it’s obvious it has been well taken care of. The wood floors are in pristine shape. The living room is square-shaped with a large picture window that lets in a nice amount of sunlight. It has two good-sized bedrooms, a full bath in the bigger room and a small bath with a toilet and sink right off the kitchen. The kitchen itself is small but there is a separate area for a dining table. 

We wander through each room, silent but I can tell she's taking everything in, processing it.

Peggy clears her throat. “What do you think?”

“I think it's nice. It's a lot of space for just you.”

“True,” she says, ducking her head as she walks into the living room. “If it were just me.”

I follow her. “You're getting a roommate?” I know that's not what she's thinking but I want to hear her say it. I'm the one who suggested it. I didn't think she was listening.

“If I did get the house, yes, I would need someone to live here. With me.”

“Did you have someone in mind?”

“I was thinking--” She jumps as a car horn sounds.

“We should go,” she says, walking so fast she's almost running.

I grab her hand, stopping her. “I really like the house. If that means anything.”

She smiles. “It does. It means a lot.”

\-----------------

Thanks to Howard, we were in the air within minutes of arriving on the Tarmac. The flight was quick, one of the quickest I’ve been on, though the one stewardess, a young blonde with an ample chest and easy smile, felt we would be bereft without champagne. We all partook, perhaps me more than others. I knew better but I ignored my inner proper lady. Since this morning, she's been annoying me to no end. I thought the champagne would take the edge off but it just added to it.

During his research, Freeman discovered four different land transactions in Sahuarita: one residential, two commercial and one military lease, which I thought was unusual until we approached the airport. Military personnel were scattered about, as were military planes and jeeps. Apparently the airport in Tucson shares facilities with Davis-Monthan Army Air Field.

Also thanks to Howard, two cars are waiting for us as soon as we disembarked. Daniel and I choose one, while Freeman and Mr. Jarvis take the other, and our small caravan heads to the hotel.

Daniel and I get there first, and he checks us in. Freeman and Mr. Jarvis enter the hotel lobby as I hear Daniel getting frustrated.

“We were supposed to have four rooms, not three,” he says to the young man behind the counter.

“Sir, I have the reservation right here, made this morning. It clearly states two rooms with single beds and a shared bath, and one suite with a king bed and a private bath.”

“Fine. Just give me the keys.” Daniel looks at me. “Rose messed this one up.”

Did she? I’m not so sure...

“Freeman, you and Jarvis will need to share the bigger room,” he says as disburses the keys, the suite key to Jarvis and one of the singles to me.

I take Mr. Jarvis’ key and hand him mine. Then I take the key from Daniel and hand it to Freeman.

“Peggy,” Daniel says, a warning.

“They know, Daniel.” I walk away, heading to the room. I hear him, flustered, tell the men that they should meet us in our suite as soon as they get settled.

I hear his heels and crutch catching up to me. “Peggy…”

“We’re not making Mr. Jarvis and Agent Freeman sleep in the same bed.”

“They’ll get over it. And there might be a couch in the room.”

I use the key to open the door. Daniel follows behind, the door shutting and locking behind him.

I drop my suitcase and face him. “Daniel, why are we pretending that this, us, doesn’t exist?”

“We’re not…” He puts down his suitcase. “We’re separating professional and personal because we agreed...”

“If everyone in the office knows, and Jack knows, and the whole bloody New York office knows by now thanks to Arias and Squires, why are we putting up a front? For the powers that be?”

His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, and his eyes close. He does that when he's flustered. “After I found out you were transferring here, I looked up SSR policy on fraternization. It very clearly states that what we are doing, as supervisor and subordinate, is against policy. Since we’re in a transition, with no replacement for Vernon yet, we’re getting away with it. It could cost one or both of us our jobs eventually. So, yes, for the powers that be.”

“Fine, I get that we have to be careful when it comes to the top brass, but what about in our office? As I said, everyone there knows. They don’t seem to have a problem with it.”

“So what are you suggesting? Making out in the bullpen? Having sex on my desk?”

I purse my lips, partly from annoyance, partly from amusement. “As appealing as that sounds, no, that is not what I am suggesting. I am suggesting…” Now I'm just as flustered as he is. “I don’t know what I am suggesting. I’m just tired of pretending.”

“Peggy--”

“I want to be happy,” I say, interrupting him.

Given the look on his face, my comment took him by surprise. “You deserve to be.” His expression softens. “You’re not happy with me?”

“Yes, I’m very happy with you, but the circumstances are terrible.” I sit on the bed and sigh. “Society dictates that I must be a floozy if I want to live with a man…”

“You are _not_ a floozy.”

“It doesn't matter what either of us thinks, Daniel. It's the perception. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for wanting to share a room with you. Or a house.”

“So that’s where this is coming from,” he says, sitting on the bed next to me. “You really liked that house.”

“The house was nice, but this isn't about the house. It's what the house represents.” I take his hand in mine. “I want a relationship with you on our terms, not society’s, not the SSR’s. Apparently that’s too much to ask.”

“No, it isn’t,” he says, pulling me to him. “I want the same thing, and we’ll have it. It might just take a little longer, and some creativity.”

I sigh against his chest. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to bring this up right now. I’m tired and on edge, and it's possible the champagne got to me.”

“I'm glad you did bring it up,” he says, his hand rubbing my back. “I didn't know this upset you so much.”

“Neither did I until this morning.” I didn't rat out Rose as the one at fault for my outburst. But it was her fault. She got me thinking. That's always a dangerous thing. “I don't know why this is grating on my nerves.”

“I do,” he says. “You’re ticked off because you're not in control.”

I want to be mad at that comment but it is spot-on. “Am I that transparent?”

“To me, yes. To others, no.” He plants a kiss in my hair. “I'm ticked off, too. I want to shout from the rooftops, ‘Hey, everyone, Margaret Elizabeth Carter is my girl!’ But I can't for fear of repercussions.”

“Maybe my transfer here was a bad idea.”

“No, I think we just need some time to figure everything out. It's only been a few weeks, Peg. Be patient.”

“Patience is a virtue of which I am sorely lacking.”

“You don't say,” he says, teasing. “Give it, give _us_ , some time.”

“I will try to be patient.”

“No, you won't, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

I swat his chest. He starts to laugh but I shut him up with a kiss. I don’t consciously deepen the kiss; it just happens, just as it always does with us. You would think after a few weeks, the novelty would wear off. If anything, it’s gotten more intense.

A knock at the door puts that to a halt. We break apart, me going to my suitcase and him going to the door.

I can’t hold back my surprise as I see Mr. Jarvis dressed in khaki pants, a hideous Hawaiian print shirt that is far worse than any of Daniel’s, sunglasses and a straw hat. Freeman is dressed similarly but without the hat and with a camera around his neck. They step inside.

Daniel looks at me, then back to the two men. “I know I said get settled, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Chief Sousa,” Mr. Jarvis says, “I think it would be a good idea for us to check out each of the sites this afternoon.”

“That was the plan, Jarvis.”

“I meant Agent Freeman and I.”

“We’ll all go.”

“If I may,” Mr. Jarvis says, removing the sunglasses, “it might be suspicious if a car full of sharply dressed individuals drives up. But if it is two unfamiliar faces doing some sightseeing…”

Freeman nods. “We could scout out the places, see if any of them are worth looking into. If not, I can head to the county assessor's office and do more research. It will save us time in the long run.”

I have to say, I applaud their ingenuity. Not to mention, their enthusiasm in looking like ridiculous tourists.

Daniel looks at me again and I shrug.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Daniel says, “but you are to observe only. That's an order. Under no circumstances do you enter any buildings or engage anyone. When you get done, report back here. I’ll order us some food and we’ll go over what you find.”

Jarvis smiles. “Splendid!” Then he catches himself. “I mean, yes, Chief.” Freeman adds in his own “yes, Chief,” and opens the door, Mr. Jarvis filing out behind him.

“He’s turning out to be a right good spy,” I say after the door closes.

“I told you Freeman had potential.”

“I wasn't talking about Freeman.”


	20. Chapter 20

While Freeman and Jarvis are scouting, I take Daniel’s advice and indulge in a long, hot bath. To my surprise, there is a claw-foot tub and next to it is a basket with small bottles of shampoo and bubble bath. Within a few minutes, I sink into the full tub. I close my eyes and revel in the warmth of the water and the lovely scent of lavender. This is heaven, if just for a little while.

In the time I was in there, Daniel was busy on the phone. First he talked to Rose, giving her the hotel room number and getting a number for the detective in New Jersey. He then called the detective and left a message. Finally, he called for room service, ordering four cheeseburgers and fries, which made me realize I am starving.

He was silent after that, and I relaxed more into the tub. Once the water turned cool and my fingers started wrinkling, I climbed out, dried off and got dressed.

As I leave the bathroom, I find Daniel on the bed, leaning against the headboard with a file in his lap. His eyes are closed, his face serene. Quietly, I walk to the bed and take the file.

“I’m awake,” he says. “Just resting my eyes.”

I crawl onto the bed and he makes a place for me between his legs. He opens his arms and I sit in front of him, my back to his chest.

“Mmm, you smell good,” he says, his arms slipping around me.

“Lavender bubble bath. I highly recommend it.”

“I think I’ll pass, but thank you.”

His nose is on my neck, nuzzling right below my ear. I lean my head back against his shoulder. We stay that way just long enough for his breathing to even out and for me to be on the precipice of sleep, when the phone rings. Daniel jerks awake, reaches over and grabs the receiver.

“Daniel Sousa.” A pause. “Yes, hi, Greg. I appreciate you calling.” A long pause, along with Daniel’s body tensing. I turn around to face him. “Thank you for looking into it. I owe you.” A final pause. “Absolutely. Talk to you later, Greg.” He hangs up the receiver.

“Not good news?”

His mouth is a straight line. “Alan Duvane works for an insurance company, a regional manager for the southwest. He was in Phoenix this week.”

“So it _was_ Alan.”

“There's more. Greg called Duvane’s home under the pretense of an ignored jury summons. His wife answered. She just got word that her husband was killed in a car crash last night in Phoenix.”

The news completely blindsides me. “How… Is he sure?”

“Very sure. It was a pretty gruesome wreck but they found his ID. Greg confirmed it with Phoenix PD.”

Alan Duvane called me, warned me, and now he's dead.

“Peggy, this is not your fault.”

“The hell it isn't.” I start to get up from the bed but Daniel pulls me back.

“Don't do this.”

“He talked to me and now he's dead.”

“It could have been a coincidence, a bad accident.”

I look him in the eye. “Do you honestly believe that?”

He lowers his gaze. He doesn't believe it any more than I do.

“We’ll get answers, Peg,” Daniel says. “There has to be a connection somewhere, and I believe the connection is in that redacted file.”

He is reading my mind.

“We have to get answers because he called me for a reason. He endangered his own life to warn me. I have a very bad feeling about this.”

Daniel's gaze meets mine and I see that same feeling reflected in his eyes. We've uncovered another hornet’s nest and I fear that no matter what we do, we are going to be stung.

A knocking sound breaks our eye contact. I get up and go to the door.

“Yes?”

“Room service, ma’am,” says a male voice.

I open the door and a man dressed in all white enters, rolling a large cart with four cloche-covered plates.

Daniel walks up and gives the man a dollar. “Thank you.”

The man bows his head and leaves. 

Within fifteen minutes, Freeman and Mr. Jarvis join us and we gather around the cart, which is just big enough for the four of us to pull up a chair to eat.

“So we went to the residential land first,” Freeman says, reading from his notebook balanced on the armrest of the chair. “Nothing there. Didn’t even look like the dirt was disturbed. We headed to the two commercial ones next. The first was a restaurant that looked close to opening. The second was just an empty building.”

“Could the second one be a lead?”

Freeman shakes his head. “We looked inside the windows and there was a layer of dirt at least an inch thick on the floors and other surfaces. It hadn’t been touched in a long time. The military lease was next. There were several buildings, most of which looked unoccupied, but we did see someone walking into one of the far buildings.”

I look at Jarvis. “Anyone familiar?”

“Unfortunately, we did not get a good look at him before he entered the building, Miss Carter.”

Freeman continues. “We stopped at the county assessor’s office and I got more information about the lease.” He flips a page in the notebook. “Turns out Sahuarita had a bombing and gunnery range that was heavily used during the war but has been pretty much abandoned since. The army is leasing some of the range and outbuildings to companies that have military contracts. The building that we saw the person come out of was leased to Koch Enterprises.”

“Company name doesn't ring a bell,” Daniel says.

“That’s what we thought. I called Rose from a pay phone on our way back and asked her to see what she could come up with on that company. She said she would call you here when she finds something.”

Daniel nods. “What is the security situation?”

“There’s barbed chain-link fence around the whole area. We didn’t check to see if it’s electrified. There is someone at the guardhouse, which is why we didn’t get too close. Not sure if they ask for ID to enter.”

“I would think they do,” I say, “especially if the occupants are working on military contracts.”

Nods all around.

“Good work, Freeman,” Daniel says. “You, too, Jarvis.”

Silence fills the room as we finish up the food, or at least the men do. My cheeseburger remains mostly untouched. I was hungry earlier but now the thought of food makes my stomach churn. I can feel the heat of Daniel’s gaze on me but I don't look at him.

“Jarvis,” Daniel says, “you said Stark sent a suitcase of goodies along. What’s in it?”

“Yes, well, he sent along what he called infrared glasses, two pair, which should help us see in the dark.”

“Do they work?”

Mr. Jarvis gives us a ‘so-so’ hand gesture. “The camera that Agent Freeman had earlier is in fact masquerading as high-powered binoculars, which do work quite well. Also, when he found out about Vernon Masters’ abilities, Mr. Stark loaned us one of his newest inventions, fiberglass-lined gloves that supposedly will stop any kind of electrical transference.”

“How will that help us? Vernon doesn't shoot electricity out of his hands,” Daniel says, then adds a grimace. “At least that we know of.”

“I'm not sure that part will help, Chief Sousa. However, they do have a mechanism that allows you to lock the gloves, as it were, at the assailant’s sides, keeping the hands secured and apart.”

“I guess it can't hurt,” Daniel says as the phone rings.

I get up and answer it, knowing who it is. “Hi, Rose.”

“Peggy, you’re answering the chief’s hotel room phone. I wonder why.” Her voice is full of conspiracy.

“Very funny. What did you find out about Koch Enterprises?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” I look at Daniel.

“I mean nothing,” Rose says. “I couldn’t find anything on the company name. The military has never heard of them. No contracts to any company with a name even close to that, in Arizona or anywhere in the U.S.”

“Thank you, Rose.”

“Have fun, Peg.”

I sigh as I hang up the phone. That woman is incorrigible. “According to the military, there is no Koch Enterprises with any kind of military contract or lease.”

Daniel nods, not at all surprised. “OK, here’s how this is going down. We go at two a.m. This should be late enough to avoid any overachievers working until midnight. How long will it take to get to Sahuarita?”

Freeman jumps in. “It took us no time. It's maybe fifteen minutes south of here.”

“We take two cars, you and Jarvis take the lead. Is there somewhere we can park out of the way?”

“There are some desert shrubs we might be able to partially cover,” Freeman says, “but there isn’t anything large, unless you count saguaros.”

Daniel looks at his watch. “We’ll meet back here at one-thirty. Try to get some rest. It’s going to be a long night.”

Freeman and Mr. Jarvis leave, and I push the food cart outside in the hallway.

After the door closes, I try to stifle a yawn but don't succeed. Ever the crack investigator, Daniel notices and offers his hand.

“Come on, let's get some shut eye,” he says.

He walks me to the bed and sets the alarm on the side table. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he does something I've never seen him do. He pulls up the pant leg and unbuckles the prosthesis. After setting it aside, he takes the pant leg and tucks it in his belt.

He looks up and sees me staring. “What? I figured if I took my pants off, we wouldn't get any sleep.”

“You think you're that irresistible?”

“I _know_ I'm that irresistible,” he says with a cocky grin.

Since the beginning, Daniel always has had the ability to make me laugh when I am at my lowest. I appreciated him for it back then. I love him for it now.

He lies on the bed and I curl up next to him, my head on his chest.

I close my eyes and immediately see Alan Duvane. I had met him a few times, when he and Michael were on leave. Alan didn't have family he was close to, so he would pal around with my brother. He was tall and rail-thin, blonde, with a crooked smile and a nose to match. Rugby accident, he claimed, though I think it was more like a bar brawl.

I see his face, a face that will haunt me, knowing I am responsible for his death. He has… had a wife. Did he have children?

“Peggy, stop blaming yourself.”

Sometimes I wish Daniel didn't know me so well.

“He contacted you because he thought it was the right thing to do. He could have ignored your call but he didn't. If it had been you, you would have done the same thing.”

“I know, but it doesn't make it any easier.”

His fingers trace a path up and down my arm. The motion is soothing, though not enough to erase that crooked smile and bar-brawl nose from my mind.


	21. Chapter 21

Freeman was right. This is some of the most desolate land I have ever seen. We are unable able to find complete cover for the cars but can use the blackness of the Arizona desert to our advantage.

We gather around the car that Peggy and I arrived in.

“Remember, I informed the Pima County Sheriff’s Office that we are out here, so if we need backup, they have two patrol cars on standby. The walkie-talkie is in this car set to the right frequency. All you have to do is talk.”

Freeman nods. “Do you really think this is the place, Chief?”

Part of me wants it to be, and part of me doesn’t. If it isn’t, it was a waste of time and resources. If it is, we may not have enough time and resources to handle it.

“I don’t know,” I say, handing him two empty duffel bags, “but we need to be ready regardless.”

We follow along the fence, which we now know is not electrified, thanks to Jarvis accidentally leaning against it. We walk the south side of the perimeter almost to the end.

“This is it,” Freeman says.

The building is a typical outbuilding on a military base, a large metal half-dome. It is sequestered with only one other identical building near the fence. A pair of bolt cutters makes for a quick entrance onto the property.

Freeman and Peggy take one side, and Jarvis and I the other, and we walk around the building. There is a front door, a back door, and on one of the sides is a garage door with windows. I look through one of the windows and see nothing but my reflection. The windows must be blacked out from the inside. Interesting.

We all meet at the back of the building and try the door there. It’s no surprise that it is locked. Our resident lock pick, Peggy, gets to work on it, and within two minutes, we are in.

Wearing the infrared glasses, I enter the building first. I can’t see a damn thing. I take three steps and bump into a table. Peggy, who has a high-powered flashlight, follows behind me, then Jarvis and Freeman.

“Not Stark’s best attempt,” I say, ripping off the glasses and stuffing them in a pocket.

Other than Peggy’s and Freeman’s flashlights, not a thread of light is in the building, not even the moonlight. The only windows in the entire building are the ones on the garage door. I move to a window and run a hand over it. Peggy walks up next to me.

“They’ve been painted,” I say. Very interesting. Peggy runs the flashlight beam over the wall by the garage door and finds what she is looking for.

“Lights on,” she says and flips the switch.

Dome lights hanging from the ceiling illuminate only the front half of the room, but it are enough to see the contents of the entire space. Looking around, the words ‘deja vu’ pop into my mind. It looks almost identical to the barn. Metal parts everywhere, copper wires and glass tubing scattered on various tables.

“Jarvis, you take the front door. Freeman, guard the back. Peggy and I will gather evidence.”

Splitting up, Peggy and I walk to the tables, placing whatever we can fit into the two duffel bags. Whatever won't fit gets photographed.

“Should have brought more bags,” I say as I shove another part into it. “Peggy, you seen the plans yet?”

“No, I haven't found a shred of paper. No notes, no plans. They have to be somewhere.”

We continue our search of the tables, and I take the final one, which is up against the wall opposite the garage door. This table is different than the others, slightly smaller and wood rather than metal. The top is slanted like a drafting table. I walk around it and see a thin drawer under the top, completely unnoticeable from the opposite side. I try the drawer; it’s locked.

“Hey, Peggy.” She looks up from two tables away. “I need your skills.”

“I've been telling you that for almost two years.”

Freeman’s snicker echoes in the room. Peggy walks over and looks at the drawer lock. From her pocket, she withdraws a very small lock pick. She has it unlocked in a matter of seconds.

“Piece of cake,” she says, pulling the drawer open.

I look inside. “Bingo.”

The drawer is just wide enough to hold legal-size paper. Right on top is a piece of paper with formulas scribbled on it.

Peggy pulls out all of the contents of the drawer. So many papers of all shapes and sizes. We sort through them, moving papers aside to get an idea of everything in the pile.

Under the papers is a single file folder, a faded brown with battered corners. The dog-eared tab has ‘M. CARTER’ and a case number typed on it. I glance at Peggy; she should be the one to open it. She does, and we both see the thick black lines covering most of the text and the word ‘DELETED’ stamped several times.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. She closed the folder, places it the duffel and continues her search elsewhere, not saying a word.

There is one interior door in the building, near the drafting table. It's partially open and I see the shadow of a toilet.

I walk to it and carefully push the door open further. Light from the main room fills into the space to reveal a sink and mirror.

I turn to leave but out of the corner of my eye, I see movement in the mirror. I turn back and my arm is grabbed roughly, my gun gone from my hand within a second.

“Hey!”

I pull back but the grip on my arm is superhuman. Another arm goes around my neck. A hand is on my face. And…

Oh God!

\--------------

Oh God!

By the bathroom, Vernon has Daniel in a headlock, his free hand curled around and on his face. Daniel is screaming in agony, and the sound pierces my heart.

“Stop!”

Mr. Jarvis, Freeman and I rush toward him.

“That's close enough,” Masters says, his face bright red, his voice hoarse and barely audible over Daniel’s keening. He is concentrating on whatever horror he is doing to Daniel, but his eyes are on us, namely me.

Dammit! I can’t get a clear shot. None of us can. He has Daniel as a shield, his head ducked down.

“Let him go,” Freeman says, getting Masters’ attention by walking toward him but away from me. Masters follows Freeman’s approach, which makes him turn ever so slightly but just enough...

I fire. The first shot misses. Before he can react, the second bullet hits Vernon’s arm but he does not loosen his grip. The third goes to Vernon’s head, in his temple, blood spilling from the bullet hole. I follow up with a fourth shot to the same place, the bullet hitting right next to the other. He stumbles backward, his grip on Daniel broken, and steadies himself against the doorjamb.

I rush forward and grab an unconscious Daniel, dragging him away. Mr. Jarvis, gun still focused on Masters, runs up to help. We get him far enough away and Mr. Jarvis checks his pulse. He nods at me. He’s alive.

When I look back to Masters, the bullet holes in his head are closing up before my eyes.

“Nice try,” Vernon says with a smarmy grin, “but I got the formula, and some interesting information I wasn't expecting.” He looks down at Daniel. “So Andy Hardy finally got his Polly Benedict. Can’t say I’m surprised. You two are sickeningly alike. Do-gooders, out to save the world, full of wholesome ideals.” He looks at me and the grin widens. “Though apparently not that wholesome. Showers, bathrooms. I believe that is the definition of a trollop. Again, I'm not surprised.”

I swallow, willing myself not to throw up, as he continues.

“And you, looking into your brother’s past. Don’t open doors you are not prepared to walk through, young lady.” He laughs mirthlessly. “What am I saying? You never listen. Damn do-gooders don’t have the sense God gave a goose.”

What the bloody hell does that mean?

“I see you got the file,” he says, then bursts into laughter. “Serves the bastard right, trying to take over my project.”

He is crazy. Crazy and dangerous, the Zero Matter scrambling an already disturbed brain. Just like Whitney Frost. Still, I can't help asking a question, _the_ question.

“Why did you shoot Jack Thompson?”

Masters smiles, shakes his head. “You don't get it, Polly, do you? I didn't shoot him. Why would I? I have these babies.” He raises his hands. “You want to know who shot Thompson? Go to the caretaker’s house on the Mission Oaks Ranch. You'll find that answer and so much more.” He erupts with laughter again.

I should have expected a twisted answer from a twisted mind. How are we going to take him down? We don’t have a working rift generator handy, or some extra gamma rays. He’s a small man, one I’m more than capable of taking out with one punch, but I can’t get close to him. None of us can.

I look at Freeman and Jarvis, give them a slight tip of my head. I hope they get what I am thinking.

I start firing, emptying my gun into Masters. Freeman and Mr. Jarvis follow suit. Each shot jerks him from side to side. He goes down, not moving. The three of us rush forward and surround him. Jarvis whips out the long gloves, almost looking like women’s black opera gloves, and hands me one.

“Freeman,” I say as we encase Vernon’s hands, “go to the car and radio for help. But be careful. We don’t know if anyone is outside.”

He nods and sprints to the door. He opens it and the coast must be clear because he runs out.

“There’s a lock on the top by the elbow,” Mr. Jarvis says. “Flip that and it should force his hands at his side using some kind of ultrasonic nerve stimulation.”

“ _Should_ force?”

He shrugs. “They’ve never been tested on someone of his… abilities.”

I follow his instructions and Masters’ arm goes completely rigid, sticking to his side like a magnet. A sickening slurping sound is coming from his body as the bullet holes close up on their own.

Mr. Jarvis and I get Masters into a standing position. I look over at Daniel, his forehead creased in pain. I want nothing more to run to him and comfort him.

“Hold him at arm’s length,” I say as we walk Masters toward the exit.

I hear a car engine revving toward us, lights on. The car screeches to a halt and Freeman jumps out.

“On their way. I’ll get the chief,” he says, running by us.

I make the mistake of looking Masters in the eye. I now see what Violet was talking about. His eyes, normally a light brown, are pitch black, with something else. I am not sure what but it looks… not human.

“Carter,” Masters says, “if you think taking me out of the equation will stop us, think again. There are more to take my place, many more. Cut off one head and others will grow in its place.”

Dear God.

It’s not possible.

I haven’t heard those words in years. I didn’t want to hear them then, and I certainly don’t want to hear them now.

“You're…” I can't say it. I won't say it.

His smile bores right through me. “Hail HYDRA.”


	22. Chapter 22

After following up with the sheriff’s department, I head to the airport. I had called Jack to arrange for agents for transport to New York. I asked for Squires, knowing that Arias automatically would be sent with him, but it had to be.

I hate asking Howard for resources again, but considering how dangerous Masters is, and how quickly and quietly we need this done, a commercial flight was out of the question. He readily agreed to have one of his jets fly Arias and Squires here, and take them back with their deranged cargo.

It almost kills me to be away from Daniel. I have called Mr. Jarvis three times in the last seven hours. He is in our suite with Daniel, keeping an eye on his vitals. He was in and out of consciousness, though his breathing and pulse were consistently strong. On the last call, I got the good news that Daniel was awake and didn’t seem to have any ill effects, other than a badly bruised arm, dizziness and a severe headache.

I drive up to the plane as it comes to a stop and wait inside the car until the stairway lowers.

“Hey, Carter,” Arias says as he get to the bottom of the jet’s stairs. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“If you are referring to Chief Sousa, he is indisposed.”

“Got a little too rough with him, eh?” Arias elbows Squires, who smiles.

“Yes, Vernon Masters did.”

I turn on my heel and walk to the driver’s side of the car. We all climb in and I drive the short distance to the sheriff’s office. Lucky for me, the rest of the ride is quiet. I'm not much in the mood for more verbal jousting with children.

We enter the sheriff’s building and I go directly to the area where Masters is being held. For being a small county sheriff’s office, their facilities are state-of-the-art. The building has a large room with a row of four cells on one side, then two rooms on the other that house bigger individual cells, and Masters is occupying one.

The guard nods to me and unlocks the door. Miracle of miracles, Masters still is partially sedated. It took three times the normal dose of sodium thiopental administered by a local doctor and even then, he is in and out of sedation.

The reason I had asked for Squires was knowing of his background working as a medic in the war. He knows how to administer medication, and with a several-hours flight, Masters will need to be given more of the sedative.

I show Arias and Squires the gloves and how they operate. “Make sure these gloves stay in the locked position at all times on the flight.”

Arias cocks his head. “What if he has to piss?”

“Then you’ll have to help him with his aim,” I say, putting as much amusement in my voice as possible. “Do not unlock those gloves for any reason. Dr. Franklin from your lab will meet you at the airport with additional equipment for restraining Masters.”

Arias huffs. “Why does Thompson always give us the shit work?”

“I am officially turning over Vernon Masters to your custody,” I say. “Agent Freeman is in possession of the evidence we uncovered and is currently taking inventory. When he is done, we will call in the list to Chief Thompson.” I hand Arias a file folder borrowed from the sheriff. “All of my notes on the incident are in there. Do not lose this.”

“What do you think I am, Carter?”

“Do you really want me to answer that, Agent Arias?”

Before he can respond, I walk away.

\-------

I open my eyes to a beautiful sight. Right above me is Peggy, looking down and smiling. It takes me a second to realize we are in the bed at the hotel. She is next to me, leaning against the headboard.

“I must be in heaven because there's an angel above me,” I say. “When did you get back?”

“About an hour ago.” Her fingers lazily comb through my hair. “I didn't want to wake you.” She motions to my leg, which is covered by the sheet. “Did you remove it?”

“No, Jarvis did, a while ago. And let me tell you, it's not nearly as arousing when he does it.”

“My, aren't we cheeky,” she says, unable to hide her smile.

“You love my cheeks, all of them.”

“Indeed I do.” Her smile fades as her hand leaves my hair and moves down to my arm, steering clear of the hand-shaped purple bruise. “Your sarcasm is in rare form. You must be in a lot of pain.”

She knows I hide behind humor whenever I am hurting, physically or emotionally. Guess it's useless to tell her otherwise.

“My last root canal felt better than this,” I say, closing my eyes and letting myself get lost in the motion of her fingers painting back-and-forth stripes on my chest.

Next thing I know, her lips are on mine, a light but lingering kiss. I hum against her lips, which causes her to move away.

“Does that hurt?”

I smile. “Just the opposite. It's the best medicine I could have.”

She matches my smile just before planting a second quick kiss on my lips.

“What do you remember?”

“Not much,” I say, trying but not wanting to concentrate on what happened. “I remember his hand on my neck then nothing but the most excruciating pain, worse than when I lost my leg. It was like I was being torn apart from the inside, starting with my head. I… I don't know how else to explain it.” I shake my head, as if that will shake off the whole experience. “The next thing I remember was waking up in the car.”

“Do you remember… us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Masters… retrieved a memory of us. Together.” She looks away. “In the shower. Or the bathroom. He didn't specify.”

I nod, understanding. “Yes, Peg, I remember us, and I remember those. Every detail.”

She meets my gaze again. “What about the formula?”

I hesitate, thinking. “No, I still don't remember that.”

“But that doesn't mean it's not in your mind, tucked away somewhere.” She purses her lips. “Masters has honed his craft. He is able to take the memories without erasing them. It seems he can hand-pick the memories he wants, and may be able to tap into the subconscious.”

“He’s even more dangerous than we thought,” I say. “Agent Freeman filled me in on what Vernon said about HYDRA. I thought they were destroyed.”

“So did I. I am hoping it is just his way of getting in my head. I'm sure he knows my background and what to say to throw me off.”

“That could be,” I say, not believing the words. “Everything went well at the sheriff’s office?”

She nods. “I handed Masters off to Arias and Squires, and I watched them board the plane and take off. Jack will call Rose the minute they arrive. Arias has my notes. The sheriff let me use a typewriter and carbon paper, so I have a copy as well. We owe the sheriff’s office folks a debt of gratitude.”

“Good work, Carter,” I say sincerely.

“Thanks, Chief.” She punctuates it with a smile.

“Jack has the evidence inventory,” I say. “Freeman documented and photographed everything. I reviewed the list before he called it in.” I stop. “Well, ‘everything’ isn't the right word.”

She tilts her head.

“I… pulled the file out of the chain of evidence.”

Her eyebrows raise painfully high. “You did?”

“Freeman told me about Masters denying shooting Jack. Do you believe him?”

She hesitates. “He's a madman. I'm not sure what to believe, but my gut tells me he wasn't lying. Why would he shoot Jack when he could have killed him with his bare hands, literally? Or, at the very least, done considerable damage to his mind.”

“Both Freeman and Jarvis felt the same way. So right now, other than being in that building, the file has nothing to do with our case against Vernon Masters. It does have to do with Jack’s shooting, so it will have to go into evidence eventually, but this will give you some time.”

“Chief Sousa, are you breaking the rules?”

I smile. “Someone once taught me that rules may need to be bent a little to get the job done.”

“That someone is very smart.”

“Yes, and she's a real looker, too.”

It's her turn to smile. “Whomever has her heart must be very lucky.”

I reach up to run my fingers through her hair. “He is the luckiest man in the world.”

She lowers her head and I meet her halfway for a searing kiss. Why is it that when I want nothing more than to take her to bed, one of us has a body that won’t cooperate?

I break the kiss, reluctantly, and I see that same reluctance in her eyes.

“Did you read it?” She is trying to be casual but the edge in her voice contradicts it.

“The file?” I shake my head. “I thought you should be the first. It's in your suitcase.”

She runs a hand along my cheek. “Thank you.”

“Get in my suitcase, too. There's a small black box in there. You'll be able to read through the redactions with it.”

She gets the file and the redaction reader, and settles back on the bed. I raise myself up into a sitting position; I'm sick of lying around.

Peggy starts reading the file aloud, her voice breaking every time ‘M. Carter’ is mentioned, which isn’t often, and when it is reiterated that there was an exorbitantly high loss of innocent lives.

“I can't believe he would do this. Not my Michael.” Her voice is wistful, threaded with pain.

She continues reading each page until she is near the end. Finishing one page, she flips to the next and stops. She goes to the previous page, then to the next.

“This doesn't make sense,” she says, confusion making her frown. “It stops mid-sentence. It goes from talking about the mission, then it jumps to the debriefing.”

Long brass fasteners at the top attach the pages to the folder. She flips up each fastener and removes the pages, then fans them. Three strips of paper, each the length between the two fasteners, fall out.

“We’re missing some pages,” I say, picking up the strips. “Someone didn’t want to tell the whole story.”

“Masters, maybe? Is his name in here?”

“Jack would have said something if he read that. We need to get this to Jack to see if he can piece together what is missing.”

She nods. “Until then, I have one more possible lead.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Masters said that if I wanted to know who shot Jack, then I should go to some place called the Mission Oaks Ranch. The caretaker’s house.”

“Sounds like the ramblings of a madman, like you said.”

“I know.”

“But…?” I already know the answer.

“But I want to check it out,” she says as she gets up from the bed and picks up the phone. “Hello? Yes, I was wondering if you have heard of Mission Oaks Ranch.” She pauses, one eyebrow raising as she looks at me. “Could you give me directions?” She pauses again, writing frantically on a pad of paper by the phone. “Thank you very much.”

She hangs up the phone. “It's about an hour’s drive from here.”

“How do you know he's not sending you into a trap?”

“I don't.”

“You're not going alone,” I say as a warning.

“You're in no position to come with me.”

“Luckily, we have two other candidates.”

She shakes her head. “I don't want to involve them.”

“Peggy,” I say, putting my hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at me, “you are not going alone.”

“Is that an order, Chief?”

“Yes.”

She sighs, more dramatically than necessary. “Fine. I'll take Mr. Jarvis with me.”


	23. Chapter 23

The hotel concierge was nice enough to write out directions for me to Mission Oaks Ranch. Mr. Jarvis volunteers to drive and I let him. If this is a trap, I want my full attention on the threat, not on driving a car.

I spend most of the drive reading through Freeman’s very detailed evidence inventory, interjecting directions to Mr. Jarvis in between. After what must have been nearly an hour, I close the folder. Apparently that was a signal for Mr. Jarvis 

“So…,” he says.

Oh no. Here we go again. “So what?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him glance at me. “You seem quite happy lately… with Chief Sousa.”

“Mr. Jarvis,” I say with a sigh for effect, “I wish you would refrain from using road trips to bring up my personal life.”

“I just thought I would point out that you and he seem to be getting… serious.”

“Really? I hadn’t realized it. Thank you, Mr. Jarvis, for enlightening me.” I know he means well but I cannot help being testy.

“Yes, well. Ana and I have been concerned.”

I glare at him. “You’ve discussed Daniel and I with your wife?”

“She brought it up,” he says defensively. “And she wanted to make sure you and Chief Sousa are… taking precautions.”

I cannot believe what I am hearing! “Mr. Jarvis, please tell me we are not discussing birth control.”

He chokes. “Miss Carter, of course not! I would never! I was speaking of your and Chief Sousa’s propensity for getting injured when working together.”

“You were?” Oh bloody hell.

“Of course I was,” he says. “But now that you’ve brought it up, I do hope that you and the chief are--”

“Why are we discussing this?!”

He hesitates. “Because I would like to think we are friends.”

I look at him, the edges of my mouth softening. “Of course we are friends.”

“And friends express concern. Friends discuss… things.”

Before I can stop myself, I say, “Daniel and I… it’s complicated.”

I look at him and he matches my gaze briefly. “Most relationships are, Miss Carter.”

“I know, but the complexity is exacerbated by our jobs. Enemies like to use weaknesses against you, and we have the strongest weakness of all in each other. And work. The SSR frowns upon supervisors and subordinates…” I sigh. “Whether we want it or not, our relationship needs to be concealed from the general public for now. However, we are not willing to… postpone... the growth of our relationship.” 

“I see,” he says. “That does create...”

“...a sticky wicket?”

“Precisely,” he says with a smile.

“I realize it makes me that trollop Vernon Masters spoke of--”

“Miss Carter,” he says sharply. “You are in no way a trollop, chippy or any other term of ill repute. It is apparent that you love Chief Sousa.”

“Very much so.”

“Love manifests itself in many different ways at many different times. There is no specific rulebook for relationships, and there is no specific timeline.” He pauses. “Ana and I could not have met at a worse time, but we did what was necessary to stay together. Whether it was conventional, or even legal, was of little concern.” He looks at me briefly. “One thing you have taught me, Miss Carter, is that one must be willing to adapt to any situation. I believe you and the chief have done so to the best of your abilities.”

We drive in silence until I see an open gate with a branded ‘M’ and ‘O’, announcing the outskirts of Mission Oaks Ranch.

“Mr. Jarvis, could you do me one favor?”

“Of course, Miss Carter.”

“Please let us never discuss my sex life again.”

“Of course, Miss Carter.”

The ranch has just a few buildings, the nearest to us being a large house. I see a man walking out of the house.

“Stop the car.”

He does, and I roll down the window. “Excuse me, sir.”

The man stops. “Yeah?”

“Could you tell me where the caretaker’s house is?”

He points to a small building, a miniature version of the large house several hundred feet away, and continues his walk.

I nod to the man. Mr. Jarvis resumes driving and stops in front of the caretaker’s house.

“Stay in the car,” I say to Mr. Jarvis.

“Miss Carter--”

I get out of the car before he can finish. The porch of the home has the worn look of the elements and neglect. I knock on the door, then quickly look back at Mr. Jarvis. He is actually doing what I say, staying in the car. I’m shocked.

I knock again. Still no answer, though I hear a baby laughing. The window is not open. Where…? I look back again at Mr. Jarvis, and he is pointing to the side of the house. 

I walk off the porch and toward the backyard. The cooing is getting louder. I see the beginning of a clothesline, two shirts hanging from it.

A baby’s laugh. A mother’s laugh. From around the two shirts I see a woman, young with a heart-shaped face and long chestnut-brown hair, wearing a mid-length dress with a flower-print apron. The woman is holding the baby on her hip with one hand and trying to hang a sheet with the other. She drops the sheet, mumbles something, then puts the baby in a nearby bassinet. The baby immediately starts crying.

“Hello?” I must have startled her because she practically jumps. She quickly grabs the baby.

“I apologize. I didn't mean to scare you. Are you the caretaker?”

“No,” she says in a timid voice. “My husband is.”

She holds the baby tighter the closer I get to her. Such a skittish little thing, this woman.

“Might I talk to your husband?”

“He… He's not here. What do you want?”

I nod at the baby, who is cooing and holding a fistful of the woman’s hair in a chubby little hand. “You have a very happy baby. How old is she? Or he?”

She relaxes her shoulders slightly. “He’s six months old.”

I smile, trying to further gain her trust. “They grow up so fast, don't they?”

She nods, still not trusting me but not ready to run away, either.

“I was looking for the gentleman working on a project at the gunnery range. I was told I could find him here.”

For a split-second, a flash comes across her face: recognition, panic. She knows something. She looks at the house, then back to me.

“I'm sorry,” she says, her voice tight. “I have to ask you to leave. This is private property.”

I've hit a nerve. “If you could just give him a message--”

“I said leave! I'm going to call the police!” I wasn't expecting such power to come from her voice. Neither was the baby, as he starts crying.

I back away, hands out in front of me. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I'm leaving.” 

She runs into the house, slamming the back door behind her.

That has to be one of the oddest encounters I've ever had. I walk back toward the car. As I pass by the front window, a shadow is outlined through the gossamer curtain. She is watching me. 

Should I knock on the door again? Probably not prudent if the man I am seeking is not here. 

“I heard shouting,” Mr. Jarvis says as I get in the car. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. It seems I was an unwanted visitor for whatever reason.” I give him a summary of our exchange. “She's hiding something. That much is obvious.”

“Perhaps we should leave for a while, then return to stake the place out.”

I look at him, amused. “That's not a bad idea, Mr. Jarvis. Though let’s call it surveillance.”

He gives me a smug smile as he starts driving. “I saw a diner about halfway between here and Tucson. We could wait there.”

“That will do. I will call Daniel and let him know our status.”

I look out the window, seeing the terrain for the first time. I wasn't paying attention on the ride here, first engrossed in the inventory list and then getting grilled about my love life. With it being a desert, I expected to see nothing but flat land, just as we had at the gunnery, but the ranch is nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains. Beautiful grassy areas open up to hills and valleys, small groves of trees dotting the land.

“Arizona is an interesting state,” I say, watching a new grove of trees approach. “Desolate in one place, positively breathtaking in others.”

“You'll find California is much the same way. In the eastern part of the state is Death Valley, the hottest place in America.”

“You don't say.” I glance at Mr. Jarvis, who is looking in the rear view mirror. I turn around. “Is there a problem?”

“I'm not sure. I've watched the car’s approach for a few miles. It's getting much closer now.”

“Proceed as you are. If they are following us, we don't want to tip them off.”

“Right,” he says with a nod. “Oh dear!”

Before I can say a word, I am thrown forward into the dash as the car hits us. 

“Bloody hell!” I turn around to see who is driving but a low-slung hat on the driver’s head is blocking my view. Pulling my gun, I roll down the window. “Keep the car as steady as you can!”

I stick my arm out the window, gun cocked, and fire one shot. I start to fire a second shot but the car hits us again, at the back bumper on the driver’s side, and we slide sideways. From the impact, my wrist slams into the window sill and I lose the grip on my gun. 

Mr. Jarvis tries to right the car but overcorrects, and we are careening down an embankment, shallow but quite long. He is having trouble keeping control of the car. I look behind and the car is following us, on our bumper. 

“Hang on, Miss Carter!”

I turn back around, I have a split-second to see a tree right in front of us. We slam into the tree, the car slams into us, and I slam into the dash, my hands bracing me. I feel a sharp pain in my right wrist.

“Mr. Jarvis, are you OK?”

“Bruised, I’m sure, but otherwise fine. You?”

“Stay in the car and stay down. Where is your gun?”

“Glove box.”

I retrieve the gun with my left hand and open my car door. The other car is on the driver’s side but several feet away. I crouch along the passenger side until I get to the back bumper, which is barely hanging on. Looking in the car, I don’t see the driver. Bloody hell! He has to be here...

I feel something against my head.

“Don't move.” A male voice. Very familiar. Too familiar.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

He doesn't answer. I swing around, get a glancing blow to his arm, trying to get the gun. He grabs my right wrist and I see stars. Kicking out, I make contact with his knee, hard enough to knock him backward and let go of my wrist. He stumbles, the hat falling from his head, but he rights himself. I stand ready as he raises his head…

No.

His gun is trained on me, and mine on him.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” I spit the words, unable to believe that I am holding a gun on my brother.

“No joke, Peggy.”

“You're not Michael!” 

“You're not completely wrong,” he says. “Very little of the Michael you knew remains.”

He's Michael’s height, a little heavier, hair much darker, face harder, eyes harder, but voice spot-on. It's unmistakable. The same lilt, the same tone, always seeming to be on the edge of sarcasm even when he was serious.

“Who… made you look like him, sound like him?”

“I believe that would be our parents.”

My stomach starts churning, and I am fighting back tears. This is not happening. 

“You are not Michael,” I say, clenching my teeth so hard I may break one.

“Say it all you want, Princess Pegleg, but saying it doesn't make it true.”

I stop breathing. He can't… Only Michael knows that name. How… 

He reaches out and grabs the gun from my trembling hand. It barely registers in my mind that he tosses it behind him.

“I don't want to do this, Peggy, but what we are doing is too important to compromise.”

“What…” Complete sentences are not possible for me. This cannot be Michael. It cannot be.

“How did you find me?”

“Masters,” I say, a whisper.

He barks out a bitter laugh. “Bloody bastard is crazy as a loon. I told them to lock him up.”

“You died,” I say, my voice weak.

“No. I went down in Austria. I was captured, stayed a prisoner for a few years until I was selected to be a part of an experiment. Turned out to be the best thing I have ever done. As cliché as it sounds, I saw the error of my ways.”

“They brainwashed you.”

“They _enlightened_ me,” he says. “I have a purpose, a true purpose.”

“To kill people? All those villagers...”

“No. I wasn’t there,” he says, and I let out a sigh of relief, “but I agreed to take the fall to show my allegiance.”

“Allegiance?” My stomach lurches again. “To HYDRA?”

He doesn't answer me but his eyes tell the story.

“Why did those people have to die?”

“It was a test of Midnight Oil. We needed to study its effects further.” He says it as if describing how he killed a fly.

“And the only way to do it was to obliterate a village full of innocent people?”

“We all have to make sacrifices.”

“Yes, but most of the time, we get to choose those sacrifices. Those people had no choice.”

He simply shrugs. Thousands of people killed and it warrants only a shrug. This is not my Michael, regardless of whether he knows my nickname. 

“You shot Jack Thompson, to get the file back. There are pages missing. Did you take them?”

He shrugs again.

“You killed Alan Duvane.”

His expression softens. “I didn't mean to kill him. I was just trying to scare him off. Seeing him… brought back memories. I can't let them know it's happened.”

“You killed him!”

“They can’t know I’m remembering. Memories are a death sentence. If it were just me, I might accept it, but I have a family to think of.”

He has a wife. A son. 

And a memory.

“We can help you,” I say. “The SSR will help. We can find a way to reverse the--”

“The SSR,” he says with a sneer. “No thank you. And who says I want to reverse anything. This is my life.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” I stay stock-still, not revealing that I can see Mr. Jarvis retrieving the gun and walking up behind him. “I know people outside the SSR who can help. They can keep you safe, you and your family.”

Mr. Jarvis holds the gun to his head. “I suggest you put the gun down, Mr. Carter.”

Michael smiles. He whips around, pulling Mr. Jarvis’ arm behind his back and snatching the gun, tossing it up into the trees. As he does that, I rush forward. He puts Mr. Jarvis in a headlock and points the gun at me. All of this within a few seconds. He has had training far beyond the military.

“That's far enough,” he says as I get within ten feet of him. He puts so much pressure on Mr. Jarvis’ neck that the man goes slack, falling to the ground.

I swallow, forcing back bile, as I realize that Mr. Jarvis and I will not be leaving here alive.

He takes a step forward, over Mr. Jarvis’ unconscious body, and points the gun at my head. 

“You're not going to shoot me, Michael.” Tears thicken my voice. “This isn't you. This is not the Michael Carter I know. The Michael Carter I know is a good man, a man who fights for what is right.”

“That's who you remember. The man in front of you isn't that same man.” He shakes his head. “Keep hold of your memories, Peggy. Remember that man, not this one.”

“You can become that man again.”

“I’m sorry. It's too late, for both of us. I know you too well. You won't stop pursuing this. I can't let you ruin what we have worked for since the war.”

“You're not going to shoot me, Michael Harrison Carter.” 

“I'm so sorry, Princess Pegleg,” he says, barely a whisper.

I close my eyes, not wanting to watch my own flesh and blood end my life. Tears flow like rain down my face. The wait is agonizing. 

I think of Daniel, always Daniel. We wasted so much time, doing the dance of denial: denial of attraction, denial of feelings. Why were we so foolish? I want more time. I think of Ana Jarvis, her concerns about her dear Edwin and his adventures with me finally coming to fruition. I've already done so much to bring pain to her life, and now this.

I hear the shot, tense, wait for the bullet’s impact. Another shot. Then running. I open my eyes and he is behind the wheel of his car, revving the engine as the damaged car lurches away. Mr. Jarvis has come to, and I run to him. He has not been shot. Neither have I.

He couldn't shoot me. 

He's in there. My Michael is still in there.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> em2mb, your order of boning is ready at the second window. :)

Where the hell are they?

Peggy said it was an hour’s drive there. Even allowing for time to investigate, five hours is too long not to hear from them. Far too long for something not to have happened.

Freeman left almost an hour ago, getting the same directions from the concierge as Peggy did. I told him to scour every inch of land between here and there.

Why didn't I go with her? Why didn't I try to talk her out of it until I was able to go? What the hell kind of leader am I, sending an agent out with a civilian as her only backup? If I weren't the chief, I'd fire myself.

I hear a key clicking in the lock. The door opens, revealing Peggy, Freeman and Jarvis.

“Where the hell have you two been?”

Peggy walks right past me, goes into the bathroom and closes the door.

“Peggy!” I follow her but Jarvis puts a hand on my arm. He and I meet each other’s gaze. There is something in his eyes. Something is very wrong.

“I found them walking on the side of the road, about half an hour out,” Freeman says. “They got run off--”

“Agent Freeman, good work. Head back to your room. I'll let you know if I need you.”

“I can stay and help--"

“Freeman. That's an order.” I look at him and he sees the finality in my eyes.

“Yes, sir. I'll be in my room.” He leaves, the door closing behind him.

“What happened, Jarvis?”

From the bathroom I hear retching. The sound catches my breath.

“We were run off the road. The car, I'm afraid, is no longer drivable.”

“Is she OK?”

“Her wrist. It might be sprained. I wrapped it in my tie. It's all I had.” He let out a heavy breath. “I am very concerned about her wellbeing, Chief Sousa. The person who ran us off the road. It was her brother.”

What the hell? “Her _dead_ brother?”

“It seems so.”

“It has to be an impostor,” I say, hearing her throw up again.

“That's what I thought but she is quite certain it is really him. Though it seems he is under some kind of mental influence.”

“She told you this?”

He shakes his head. “Miss Carter has not uttered a word since the incident.” He looks at his watch. “More than two hours ago.”

I look at the bathroom door.

“I will let her tell you the rest, when she is able,” Jarvis says, opening the door. “The medical supplies are still here, in that bag in the bathroom. Her wrist should be wrapped better.”

“Thank you for going with her.”

He nods. “I know you will take good care of her.” He leaves, closing the door gently behind him.

I move to the bathroom door. I hear water running. The sink?

“Peggy?”

She doesn't answer. I try the door and find it unlocked.

She is leaning over the sink, water dripping from her face. I scoop up a towel on the way, then hand it to her. She looks at me and the despair I see in her eyes sends an arrow through my heart.

She has removed the tie from her wrist. It looks bruised and swollen, but she is able to move it. I see the bag with medical supplies and fish out some gauze. She doesn't say a word as I wrap her wrist. Not a professional job but it will do. I put an arm around her and lead her into the room.

“Tell me what happened.” We sit on the edge of the bed. 

She clears her throat. “Mr. Jarvis and I arrived at Mission Oaks Ranch approximately four hours ago. There I spoke with a young female…”

My hand goes to her chin, forcing her to look at me.

“Not a report, Peg. Tell me about Michael.”

She nods. “He’s alive.”

“Jarvis said he was being manipulated somehow?”

“HYDRA.”

I let out a breath. “How?”

She explains what her brother -- I still can’t believe it’s really him -- told her about being captured and brainwashed by HYDRA. 

“He is the one who shot Jack?”

She nods. “And he killed Alan Duvane. He held a gun on me, knocked Mr. Jarvis out. I thought he was going to shoot both of us, but he didn’t.”

She’s frighteningly calm. Her brother is alive, pulls a gun on her, threatens to kill her, and she’s talking like it’s just a run-of-the-mill suspect. I can see why Jarvis is concerned. She’s not Peggy.

“Where has he been? How did he get to Arizona?”

She takes a deep breath, lets it out. “I don’t know, but I think it has to do with whatever he is doing with HYDRA. He acknowledged knowing Masters.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Peg, it’s me,” I say, looking her in the eye. I run a hand over her cheek, push a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes fill with tears but she fights them still. “You don’t have to be Agent Carter all the time, not with me. Let me in.”

She closes her eyes, takes in a shaky breath. “I'm an aunt.” Her eyes open and the tears finally start flowing. “He has a son. A wife. All this time, he’s been alive, started a family. Killed people. And I never knew.”

I wipe a tear from her cheek. “You’re absolutely sure it’s him?”

“He called me Princess Pegleg.” A smile flirts with her lips. “When we were little, our mum used to tell me that I behaved more like a pirate than a princess. It was very unbecoming of a young lady. So Michael gave me that nickname. Only he and I knew about it. Even Mum didn’t know.”

“We’ll help him,” I say.

“I don't know if we can.”

“We’ll try. He will have to pay for what he has done, but we’ll find a way to get him back.” I bring her closer to me, tighten my arms around her. 

“When Michael died, I wanted nothing more for him to be alive. Now that I know he is, I wish he were dead.” She sighs against my chest. “Dead and buried a hero, not alive and branded a traitor.”

Suddenly, she jumps in my arms. “We have to get to him. He may try to run.” She gets up from the bed. I reach out for her and catch her wrapped wrist. She cringes and yells out.

“Peg, I'm sorry.”

She waves it off. “We need to get to the ranch.”

“He's not going to run so quickly, especially if he has a family.”

“You don't understand. He’s beginning to remember his past, and he said he and his family could be killed for it.”

“Wait, let me call the sheriff. They’ll have probable cause to search the home since he ran you off the road. We’ll do this through the local authorities--”

“It will take too much time. I need to get to him before he runs.”

“Peggy, we need backup. We can't do this alone.”

She looks at me, her eyes imploring me to bend the rules once more.

“OK. I’ll call the sheriff. You go tell Jarvis and Freeman we leave in ten. We’ll go straight to the ranch.”

She nods and leaves the room. I pick up the phone and dial. Neither one of us is in any condition to do this, yet we’re doing this. 

“Sheriff Tustin, hello, this is Chief Daniel Sousa of the SSR.”

“Chief. How are you?”

“I’ve been better, to tell you the truth. Two of my agents were run off the road a few hours ago. They just got back.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere between here and Mission Oaks Ranch.”

“Hmmm.” He pauses. “That splits jurisdictions. Part is me, part is Santa Cruz County.”

“Any chance they’ll play ball? This has to do with the same case. Different suspect.”

“Got it. I’ll give Ruben a call. Sheriff Ruben Gonzalez.”

“Thanks. My agents and I are heading directly to the ranch. The suspect lives there apparently, as does his family.”

“I’ll let Ruben and his guys know. I’ll have them meet you there. I'll send my guys out as well.”

“I appreciate it, Sheriff.”

I hang up as Peggy comes back into the room.

“They’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“The ranch is in another county. Sheriff Tustin is playing liaison for us.”

She nods, sits on the edge of the bed, staring straight ahead. I sit next to her.

“Peg, we’ll fix this.”

“If we can.” She looks at me. “Thank you.”

I take her hand. “You don’t have to thank me for doing my job.”

“This is far outside the purview of your duties, Chief Sousa.”

“True, but the fringe benefits are pretty damn good.”

She’s fighting a smile. “You’re such a man.”

“I don’t hear any complaints.”

The smile finally shows itself but it disappears at the sound of a knock.

“Time to go.” I release her hand. “You ready?”

“Always.”

\-------------

We’re too late.

As soon as we pull up to the caretaker’s house and see the open door, I know Michael and his family are gone.

We enter the house and see chaos. In the small living room, papers are strewn everywhere, a highchair is toppled. In the kitchen, a pot is simmering on the stove, cut vegetables still on the counter. The refrigerator stands open. I look out the kitchen window and see the same laundry is hanging in the backyard.

Freeman drives Mr. Jarvis to the scene of the crash while Daniel and I scour the home. Sheriff Tustin’s men take my statement from the crash, but I leave much of the facts out. I trust Mr. Jarvis to do the same, as we discussed our story on the drive to the ranch.

We find nothing in the home that would lead us to where Michael and his family fled. The home looks much like any other family home. The one bedroom is shared by Michael, his wife and the baby, with a small crib in the corner of the room. It’s a modest life he had created, a perfect cover. The one thing missing is photos. There is not a single photo of any of them. I suspect that if there were any, they are with him or were destroyed.

By the time we finish, and Freeman and Mr. Jarvis return to the ranch, the sun has set. We get back to the hotel and say our good nights, going to our rooms.

Daniel looks exhausted and ready to collapse. He had no business being in the field. If I had been able to stop him, I would have, but I know he’s as stubborn as I am. Maybe more so.

“You need to lay down, Daniel.” 

“So do you,” he says, sitting on the chair nearest the bed to remove his pants and prosthetic. 

“How is your head?”

“Probably feels as good as your wrist.”

Touché. I walk up behind the chair and grab his shoulders, pulling him into the back of the chair. My thumbs go to his temples and I start massaging, a little less pressure on the right side. Bloody wrist.

“Good?”

His only response is a moan.

My fingers move to his hair, fingernails massaging his scalp. His head falls against the chair back, punctuated with another moan. My wrist is complaining but I will it to shut up.

When facing the barrel of my brother’s gun, my first thought was of Daniel. My first thought was of how much I love him. Honestly, I never thought I was capable of this kind of love, especially after Steve. I love someone, I lose them. I didn't want it to happen again. I willed it to not happen again. 

But then I met this adorable, charming, kind man, a man willing to stand up for my virtue after knowing me for such a short time. A man who was willing to put himself down in order to bring me up in a time of despair. 

I look down at this man, sitting in a chair, but I know I will always look up to him. I once accused him of putting me on a pedestal. I'm afraid I have done the same with him. I look up to him to pull me out of my despair once again.

My hands move down from his hair to his shoulders, then down his chest. I lean down and put my head on his shoulder.

“You OK?”

“No.”

“Come here,” he says. 

As I walk around the chair, he takes my left hand. I kneel in front of him, my head in his lap. His fingers brush through my hair.

“I thought he was going to kill me. The horror of that was enough, but when I thought about you, someone having to tell you that I had been…” My voice wavers. “I don’t want to feel that sadness anymore. I don't want to feel the betrayal anymore. I don't want to feel any of this anymore, ever, but especially not right now. Not tonight. I just want to feel… alive. I need you but...”

His hands lift my head, pushing strands of hair from my face. “Stand up.”

“You’re exhausted. We both are.” It’s a weak argument, especially when I see the desire reflected in his eyes. We both need this more than sleep.

“Stand up.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

I stand in front of him, straddling his thighs. His hands skim the fabric of my skirt, tracing my hips, then legs, until he reaches the hem. His fingers move slowly up under the skirt, his gaze never leaving mine. His fingers tease the inside of my thighs, causing me to sway. He has me, though. He won't let me fall.

He reaches behind me and unzips the skirt, pushing it down. I have to step back to remove it. He reaches forward and yanks down my panties as well, then roughly pulls me to him.

“Get rid of this,” he says, yanking on my shirt. I've never seen him so intense. No, intense is not the right word. Unrestrained.

My hands shake as I unbutton the shirt, far too slowly because I am working with a lame hand. Finally I get it done and push it off.

He looks at me, wearing only a brassiere, garter and stockings. He's seen me in this before, and in even less, but the way his gaze rakes over my body, I feel as if he wants to devour me.

His arms go around me, wrapping around my thighs. His hands continue their exploration of my legs as his mouth connects with my abdomen. His tongue flicks inside my navel. I moan, the sound coming from deep inside me.

His hands travel up, right where I want them. He strokes me over and over, and my knees go weak. 

“God!”

He holds me up, pulling me even closer. His lips resume their travels down, across my lower abdomen, through the course curls, kissing and nipping every inch, his fingers part me…

His tongue. Dear God, his tongue.

“Daniel!”

My hands go to his hair, wrist be damned, as he explores me as he never has. Oh my God, the feeling! His name is an automatic chant I push out on breaths. My mind is blank, the only thing to concentrate on is his mouth. His beautiful, very thorough mouth. Painstakingly thorough. Not an inch of skin is unexplored. My legs are jelly. I don't know how much longer I can stand. 

“Daniel, I…”

He stays with me, fingers and tongue stroking, thrusting, loving me until…

“Daniel!”

The wave starts low, then overtakes my entire body, crashing through me with a force I've never felt. I fall forward but he catches me, my knees hitting the chair cushion and my elbows landing on either side of his head. I stay that way until the aftershocks stop.

My lips seek out his, and I revel in the taste of myself on his tongue. I've lost all rational thought and speech. The only thing I want right now is him inside me.

“Bed,” I say, pulling him to the edge of the chair. He reaches behind me and unhooks the brassiere. It falls to the carpet.

“Suitcase.” 

I know what he wants and I get it. I help him up and we move the few feet to the bed.

Frantically, I pull at his shirt, unable to unbutton it. He makes quick work of it and tosses it aside, along with his underwear. I push him back on the bed and he lifts himself up until he is fully on the mattress.

I straddle him and he barely gets the condom on before I sink onto his hardness. My body is ready again, clenching around him. I want him so badly it hurts. I want him to thrust the betrayal and sadness from my body.

Neither one of us is being gentle. Neither one of us is being quiet. The only thing we are equally focused on is release.

That wave is building again, faster than I expected. His hand goes between us to make my wave meet his. It does, mine crescendoing seconds before his.

I collapse onto him, breathless. His hands brush up and down my back, his only movement. Neither one of us could move from this spot if our lives depended on it. 

I know how much I need him. Not for what just happened, the physical release, but for the emotional support. It's a cliché but he is my rock. I don’t know how I would be able to cope with this, knowing my brother is alive and is the person I never dreamed he would become. I have dealt with so much in my life, but this… this is devastating. This threatens to tear me apart, even more than losing Steve. I have lost my own brother, twice. Once to the war, once to HYDRA. I don’t know if it’s possible to get him back.

But Daniel has me. He has from the beginning. He will never let me fall, even when the fall is inevitable.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be veering away from MCU canon on these final few chapters. Sorry. Not sorry.

‘SHAKEUP IN U.S. WAR DEPARTMENT:  
OFFICIALS CHARGED WITH TREASON’

The headline on the front page of the Los Angeles Times fails to move me. The official story is that two officials are accused of selling secrets to Russia. The official story is bollocks. Daniel and I know the real story. We have been dealing with this for the past two weeks.

Within twenty-four hours of our return from Arizona, we filed our report with Hank Chamberlain, who was acting in Vernon Masters’ capacity until a permanent replacement could be found. Chamberlain informed us that the report was all supposition and had no evidence. Daniel was told to rewrite the report with all references to HYDRA removed.

Daniel also had sent a copy of the report to Jack, who was able to get it to the Secretary of War. When the Secretary confronted Chamberlain as to why something of utmost importance to national security was not shared with him, all hell broke loose.

The War Department went into an internal shutdown of sorts. Every employee from every entity went through new background checks, all the way up to and including the Secretary of War himself. In addition to Chamberlain and another official, they uncovered fourteen men to be HYDRA operatives. The fourteen were kept out of the media, but two high-ranking officials being arrested was impossible to cover up.

Everyone in our office made it through the weeklong interviews and background checks. However, our caseloads are essentially frozen until all offices are cleared, which they said would be at least another week. Some decided to take vacation time. Some, like Freeman and I, tackled small jobs around the office, like organizing the storage room. Anything to keep busy and keep my mind off Michael.

I've had no leads on my brother’s whereabouts. How does a man with a wife and baby disappear of the face of the Earth within hours? I keep telling myself that they are in hiding. The alternatives are too horrific to bear.

This second week has been especially long for me. No cases to work on, no leads on Michael and no Daniel. He has been in New York for the past week to meet with his and Jack’s new boss: Colonel Chester Phillips.

I never thought I would hear that name again, and certainly not connected to the SSR. However, we said the magic word: HYDRA. The President himself told the Secretary of War to find and recruit Colonel Phillips. I heard it was a battle bigger than any in the war just to get him to take their calls, but once HYDRA was put on the table, he agreed to come out of retirement.

I hear the click of the front door lock. Daniel is home. Since returning from Arizona, I gave up pretenses and moved in. Rose said we were ‘basically living together’. I decided to take the adverb out of it and make it official.

I reach the door as it opens. I don't give him the chance to get in the door before I frame his face with my hands and kiss him.

He smiles after I break away. “I could get used to welcome homes like that.”

He walks in and puts his suitcase down. He's tired but he still looks scrumptious. Since it was New York, he dressed the part: suit, tie, sweater vest and fedora. He lowers himself onto the couch. I start to sit next to him, but he takes my hands and moves me to stand in front of him. I sit on his lap, straddling him.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he says, fingers buried in my hair. “I had to spend a week looking at Jack and Chester Phillips.” His head and shoulders move in a mock shudder.

“You poor thing. Look all you want. Maybe later I’ll let you touch.”

His hands skim down my body, ruffling the satin fabric of my robe, and settle on my waist. “Too late.”

I take his hat and toss it across the room.

“Hey, that's my favorite hat.”

I shut him up with a kiss. An insistent, I’ve-missed-you-so-much-let’s-shag kiss. He seems up to the challenge.

And the phone rings. That bloody phone has a mind of its own.

I get up and answer it. “Daniel Sousa’s residence.”

“Hi, Peggy,” Rose says, perky as ever. “Is the chief in yet?”

“Yes, he just walked in the door.” Daniel is now standing behind me. I hand him the receiver.

“Hi, Rose.” A pause. “Right, I have everything and will bring it to the office tomorrow.” Another pause, then a furrowed brow. “Uh, no, I didn't forget. Not at all.” He nods and mouths ‘Yes I did’ to me. “We’ll be there.”

As he hangs up the phone, he look at me, apologetic. “I forgot that I told Rose we would meet her today.”

“Meet her where? Does she have another house to show us?”

“Apparently.”

“Daniel, you just got back. You’re dead on your feet.”

“No, I’m fine. I got some sleep on the plane. I already told her we’d be there. It’s not far away.”

I look down at my robe. “Guess I’ll get dressed.”

“Before you do, I have something I need to talk to you about.”

The look on his face tells me it's not something pleasant. He gets into his suitcase and withdraws a stapled pile of papers. Then he walks me into the kitchen and we sit at the table.

“What is this?”

“Just a little something Jack and I cooked up.”

I start reading aloud. “Agent and Special Interoffice Liaison.” I look at Daniel. He motions to the paper and I keep reading, silently. It’s a new position created within the SSR, or at least it’s one I’ve never heard of before.

“The person would be a liaison and agent in charge of cases that are shared by SSR offices,” Daniel says. “The first priority of this position is assembling a team to find HYDRA operatives and bring them in. The position is based in LA, since it seems HYDRA is partial to the West Coast, but there is quite a bit of travel required.”

“Why are you showing this to me?”

“The job is yours, Peggy,” he says. “All you have to do is sign.”

I’m thoroughly confused. “What?”

“Jack and I wrote up the job description and we presented it to Phillips. He’s approved it on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“That the job goes to you.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “He said that?”

“No, his exact words were, ‘Carter is the only person for the job. Make sure she signs on.’”

“I… I don’t know if I want the job,” I say, still not believing this is happening. “I have to read this.”

“Take all the time you need.”

I give him a stern look. “I don't like the fact that you are making decisions about my future without my knowledge.”

“It's not just about _your_ future.” He flips ahead a few pages and points to a paragraph, which states, ‘The Agent and Special Interoffice Liaison will report to,’ then a line with the words ‘Ret. Colonel Chester Phillips’ typed in. I look up at Daniel, confused.

“You wouldn't be reporting to Jack anymore…”

“Thank God for small miracles.”

“...or me.” He smiles. “You’ll no longer be my subordinate. The SSR fraternization policy no longer applies.”

Daniel Sousa, you sly fox.

“It’s the best of both worlds, Peg. You get a promotion and can search for your brother with full SSR resources behind you. I get the woman of my dreams on our terms. Win-win.”

I’d say it’s win-win-win, as I also get Daniel on our terms. How can I be angry with that? I can’t, but I’m not letting him off the hook that easily.

“I’m still not happy that you did this without consulting me.”

“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew it was possible. Phillips signed off on it just before I left for the airport.” He smiles and lifts his chin. “Feel free to deck me if you want.”

I look at him while fighting a smile. “I might.”

He points to the newspaper that is still on the table, where I was reading it. “I have a feeling this is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“I agree. HYDRA operatives are like cockroaches. You find one in your kitchen but there are another hundred hiding in the walls. It's going to take more than background checks and interviews for the War Department to truly clean house.”

He looks at his watch. “We should get going. I’ll change into something less stuffy.”

“And I’ll put on something less… robe-like.”

\-------

We change and are on the road within ten minutes. I can feel Peggy’s gaze on me.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“Yep,” I say.

“Would you like to tell me?”

“Nope.”

“This has nothing to do with a house, does it?”

“It does have to do with a house.” I meet her gaze briefly. “Trust me.”

The route I'm taking makes it seem we are headed to the office but I make an unexpected right turn into a residential area. One that is vaguely familiar to both of us.

I pull up to the house we looked at before we left for Arizona. Rose is on the doorstep, waving enthusiastically.

“Daniel, what in the bloody blue blazes is going on?”

I shut off the engine and get out of the car without answering. She gets out of the car and meets Rose and I on the sidewalk.

Rose gives Peggy a warm hug. “I’m so excited!”

“About what?”

She’s twirling a set of keys on her finger. She stops and hands the keys to Peggy.

“What…?” She looks at me and I smile.

“Now it's not yours, technically,” Rose says. “The family has decided not to sell the house just yet, but I talked them into renting it to this wonderful couple who would be interested in it once it goes on the market.”

I put an arm around Peggy’s waist. “Rose got us a great deal on the rent. Between our two salaries, it's doable. We may have to furnish rooms in stages, but we’ll get there.”

She’s speechless. Not a common occurrence.

A low-pitched car horn makes her jump. I turn and see a moving truck approaching. What the hell?

“I have no idea about the truck,” I say when Peggy looks at me.

Another car approaches. Mr. Jarvis is driving, with Ana in the passenger seat. We both look at Rose.

“I’ll let the Jarvises explain,” she says, turning on her heel and going into the house.

Ana Jarvis, dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt -- I’ve never seen her in anything more casual than a blouse and skirt -- rushes up and hugs Peggy.

“This is so exciting!”

I point to the truck. “What’s with this?”

“From Mr. Stark,” Jarvis says. “He heard about your new home and wanted to send some housewarming gifts.”

The two movers have exited the cab of the truck and push open the back rolling door. The bed is filled with furniture.

“Dear God,” Peggy says, finally finding her voice.

Ana Jarvis sidles up next to her. “Don’t worry. I made all of the design decisions.”

“Yes,” Jarvis says. “You would have life-sized nude statues and portraits of Mr. Stark if left up to him.”

I shake my head. “This isn’t necessary, Jarvis. Peggy and I can--”

“Mr. Stark knew you would say that, Chief Sousa. This was not meant to bruise your ego, just to give two friends a head start. I have been given orders to ignore your protestations. I shall follow those orders.”

He turns to Peggy. “As you know, Miss Carter, Mr. Stark has a severe allergy to manual labor, so he will not be here. However, he did ask me to extend an invitation to you and Chief Sousa for a dinner party tonight at six p.m.”

“I don’t know that I or Daniel is up to a party.”

“It’s just Mr. Stark, Mrs. Jarvis and I. A very small party.”

She glances at me and I nod. “I suppose a small party is possible.”

Ana puts her hand on Peggy’s arm. “Will you let me design the interior?” She nods, obviously still in shock. Ana turns to her husband. “Mr. Jarvis?”

He reaches inside his suit jacket and withdraws folded papers.

“Floor plans,” she says as she walks to the movers, giving them instructions on what goes where.

Mr. Jarvis retrieves two boxes from their car and enters the house, Ana not far behind.

“You planned this, Daniel?”

“Just the house. The rest must have been Rose and the Jarvises.” I smile. “We have great friends.”

“Yes, we do, and I have a pretty great man.”

Our lips meet for a chaste kiss; we are in public, after all.

“Since we have furniture now,” I say as we break the kiss, “let’s head back and pack up. Shouldn’t take too long.”

And it didn’t. In less than an hour, we packed up all of her belongings and most of mine, minus the furniture. We have so little material goods, they fit into the trunk and back seat of my car. I’m sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with that one.

When we get back to the house, the moving truck is gone. Peggy spends the next hour helping Rose with making the bed, hanging curtains, and setting up the two bathrooms. Jarvis and I work on moving furniture around at Ana’s instructions as she changed her mind once everything was in place.

By the time Rose and the Jarvises leave, the house is completely ready to live in. It’s hard to believe that it happened so quickly.

Peggy and I collapse onto the new couch.

“Now this is a couch,” she says, wiggling herself into the cushion. “Much better than your old one.”

She's absolutely right but I won't give her the satisfaction. “It's not bad.”

I stretch out, putting my head in her lap. One of her hands settles on my chest, the other in my hair. This is really happening. We have a home, not a bachelor pad that was too small for one person, let alone two. Not just a house. A home.

“You should take a rest,” she says.

“I am.” I nestle my head further into her lap.

“How about a bed? We have one of those, a big one even.”

She shifts under me and I take the hint. Her hand wraps around mine and we walk to the bedroom. She and Rose did a great job making the room feel feminine yet masculine. Perfect for both of us.

I lie back on the bed. “Wow, this is a nice mattress.” I pat the bed and give her a sly smile.

“No, if I do that, you won’t get any rest.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“I’m not. That jet lag is going to catch up to you.”

She's right, of course. “Wake me up an hour before we need to leave.”

She runs a hand through my hair. “Daniel, could you do me a favor?” I nod. “Stop making decisions about us without me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“One more favor.”

“Shoot,” I say, getting lost in the feeling of her fingernails lightly scratching my scalp.

“No more surprises. I don’t think my heart could take it.”

I try to suppress a smile but it doesn't work.

“I don’t like the look of that grin, mister. What are you up to?”

I don’t answer her. I’ll let her keep guessing.


	26. Chapter 26

The dinner party is lovely. Just Daniel and I, Howard and the Jarvises. Howard had it catered so that the Jarvises did not have to lift a finger. The food was magnificent, the after-dinner drinks just what I needed. The conversation was excellent as well until I cornered Howard and brought up something I have been thinking about since this morning.

“I honestly don’t think the SSR is equipped to handle HYDRA, Howard. We need more help. We need _your_ help. Maybe even a separate agency, just focused on HYDRA. This is a big enough threat that it warrants it.”

“What, did you and Phillips organize ganging up on me?”

Interesting. “No, I have not spoken with Colonel Phillips. He contacted you?”

“Yeah, and he gave me the same song and dance. I gave him the same answer.”

“You should listen to him, Howard. We need this. Our resources are limited, and even if I have a team of agents, we are talking half a dozen at most. HYDRA is an entire organization.”

“How do you know how big it is? It might just be a few fringe people.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

Howard shrugs. “I helped during the war. I did my time. I’ve got other things to do.”

“What things?”

“You know,” he says with a flourish of his hand. “Things. Important things.”

“What would Steve say?”

He scowls at me. “That’s dirty pool, Peg.”

“Fighting fire with fire, Howard,” I say, defiant.

“This is supposed to be a celebration, not a job interview.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Will you at least think about it? Seriously think about it?”

He huffs out an equally frustrated sigh. “Yes. Can we stop talking about it now? I have more wine to drink.”

“Please, don’t let me interrupt your ‘wining’.”

He mouths a ‘ha ha’ at me before he walks away. I expected this reaction, though he sounds more adamant than I thought he would. It’s going to take more work. I’m up for the challenge. He knows I'm right. 

Daniel and the Jarvises are talking up a storm, about what I am not sure, so I take the moment to sneak outside to the back patio. The cool air gives me a bit of a chill but it's not unpleasant. I walk out toward the pool.

The evening is relaxing, just what Daniel and I need, considering how hectic our lives have been lately. How hectic they will continue to be. I should be deliriously happy. I am, with part of my life. The Daniel part. The other part is slowly unraveling and I don’t have the ability to sew it back up fast enough.

I have thought about Michael every minute of every day since Arizona. Is he still alive? Is his family safe? I don’t know that I could lose him again, even knowing what he has done. He’s a good man, and that good man is still in there. I have to find that good man and bring him back. I have to fix this.

I turn my head at the sound of Daniel’s crutch.

“I hate the fact that I can’t sneak up on you,” he says as he slips an arm around my waist. “You OK?”

“You ask me that after the day I’ve had?”

He chuckles. “It has been a pretty good day.”

I turn to face him and give him a light kiss. “It’s been an amazing day. Thank you.”

“The house is pretty nice, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it's wonderful. But I'm not thanking you for just the house. Thank you for everything. I never thought I could have everything.”

“Why? You deserve it.”

“Do I? Sometimes I wonder.”

“Never wonder, Peg. You deserve to be happy. If I can have a hand in that--”

“You do,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Two hands even.”

He smiles but it fades quickly. “I know you’re thinking about Michael. What he did is unconscionable but it wasn’t within his power to do any different. Don’t let what he did interfere with your happiness.”

“That’s easier said than done.” I sigh against his shoulder.

“I will do whatever I can to help you,” he says.

“I know.” And I love him all the more for it.

“Have you given any more thought about the job?”

“I have.” I pull back to look at him. “It’s the best decision for us, but I couldn’t think just about that. I have to look at the bigger picture, and I’ve had some time to do that. This is a good start to find that HYDRA cell. For all we know, there’s more than one, and we have to do something. Colonel Phillips has faith in me, and that says a lot. I'll sign the paper when we get home.” A smile grows on my lips. “ _Our_ home. Has a nice ring to it.”

He returns the smile. “It does. There's something else that might have a nice ring to it.”

He pulls a small gold box from his jacket pocket and opens it. Then slowly, using his crutch, he kneels in front of me and takes my hand.

Oh dear God. This is not happening. He’s not...

“Margaret Elizabeth Carter, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

I stare at the contents of the little box. The ring is white gold, a thin band with an understated diamond in a filigreed square setting. On either side of the diamond are three smaller diamonds lined up, each set into the band in a square setting.

“I picked it out myself in New York,” he says. “I told the sales lady that I wanted something not flashy but still stunning. One that once you look at it, its beauty and intricacies take your breath away. I knew this was it the minute I saw it.”

Did he just describe how he sees the ring or me? Maybe both. It’s perfect. This is perfect. Our lives are far from perfect, but what we have together is closer to perfect than I thought I would get. The whole nine yards, as Rose said. Finally, I have it. And Daniel is right. I deserve the happiness. I have to allow myself to believe it.

“Um, Peg?” I tear my gaze away from the ring. “My leg is cramping.”

I nod, still in a daze.

“And you haven’t answered my question.”

I shake off my shock. “Oh! Yes. A thousand times yes.”

He takes the ring out of the box and slips it on my finger. As he starts to get up, I grab him by the collar to help and kiss the hell out of him.

I’m vaguely aware of applause, in addition to a wolf whistle, from the patio. We break the kiss and see Howard and the Jarvises, all with smiles on their faces. Well, Howard’s is more a leer but that is his normal state.

“Sorry,” Daniel says. “Didn't know we'd have an audience.”

“It's OK. They're friends. No, they're family.” 

He nods.

“Daniel, you had to do all of this, the job, the house” -- I wiggle my left hand-- “this, in one day?”

“I’m tired of waiting. I know you are, too.”

I take his hand and we walk toward Howard and the Jarvises. Ana oohs and aahs at the ring, and Howard and Mr. Jarvis give Daniel enthusiastic handshakes. We all move inside, and I catch Daniel trying to stifle a yawn.

“Thank you all for a wonderful, I daresay unforgettable, night,” I say with a smile, “but I need to get my fiancé home before he collapses.”

Fiancé. I love the sound of that. From the smile on his face, Daniel does as well.

I turn to Howard and give him a hug. “Thank you. For everything.”

“It's nothing. I’m just glad to see you happy, Peg.”

“You’ll think about what I said about a new agency?”

“I said I would,” he says in a whining tone.

“Fine. I’m just planting the seed.”

“Yeah, well, you and Danny need to go start planting seeds of your own.” He flips his eyebrows at Daniel.

“Howard!”

“Go on. Get out of my house. Go home and start christening some of that new furniture.”

“Must you always be vulgar?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

I sigh the special exasperated sigh I save just for Howard, then start to walk away.

“Peg,” Howard says, and I stop. “You deserve all the happiness in the world. And I will think about what you said.”

My expression softens. “Thank you.”

Howard shakes Daniel’s hand. “You’re a brave man, Sousa. Lucky, but brave.”

We say our goodnights to the Jarvises and get into Daniel’s car. As he drives us home -- _our_ home -- I can’t keep my hands off the ring. I keep spinning it around my finger. Daniel catches me and a broad smile crosses his lips.

“So,” I say as I stop playing with the ring and put my newly bejeweled hand on his thigh.

He looks at my hand, then at me. “So.”

“Which piece of furniture do you want to christen first?”

**Author's Note:**

> Before you say, "How the $%&! can you end it there," I will be continuing the story, just in another fic. All along I have thought of this as my season 3, and you can't end a season without some cliffhangers, right? Stay tuned for my season 4. Please!
> 
> This is my first foray into the Agent Carter universe. I thought my fic-writing days ended with the X-Files (pre-season 10), but Peggy and Daniel snuck up on me and now I'm here to stay.
> 
> Thanks to LadyWillow for suggesting I had more to say than a one-shot. You were oh so right.


End file.
